A Light in the Desert
by Eyowyn
Summary: Nasus, newly summoned to Runeterra, is not overly impressed with the League or its champions. When Lux catches his notice in a match, he has to revise his first impressions while trying to understand her and the strange world he has found himself in. Now in Part 2: The Desert, and I snuck in an update .
1. Dawn

Part One-The Institute

Chapter 1: Dawn

Humans are so fragile, he thinks, watching the tiny creature run behind him, arms and legs flailing violently in an attempt to keep up with his great strides. The female seems smaller than she is, to his eyes, perhaps because she does not wear the armor of the men.

To be fair, he hasn't actually seen any female humans with their skin covered before.  
He slows to a halt by the last of the great towers in his lane to adjust the straps and buckles of his own armor. The metal hums under his fingers—it longs, he thinks, for the scorching sands of his homeworld. This place…what do the humans call it?

He thinks a moment, watching the female human slow to a fast walk as she nears him.

Runeterra?

Whatever it is called, it is insufferably cold and damp. His jade staff numbs his fingers.  
"What's your name again?" the female asks him. She carries an aura of such  
concentrated optimism that it is faintly sickening. He fights valiantly against the smile twitching on his lips.

"I am Nasus," he says, meeting her eyes (respect that she does not deserve) and giving the slightest of nods, "Curator of the Sands."

"I remember now!" she says, a grin stretching her face. He sighs quietly.

"Yes, Nasus, Curator of the Sands—"

She remembers what he has said not ten seconds ago. Impressive mental fortitude for a female human, he thinks, recalling other partners in League matches past.

"You were the keeper of your planet's knowledge, guarding it from those that would use it for selfish purposes—the greatest scholar in all the worlds!" she gushes onwards, and now he is faintly bewildered. Her little face crinkles up as she taps out a rapid beat on the side of her leg with the baton on her hand.

"There was a conflict between those of your kind—like Kayle and Morgana. Your brother—"

"Do not speak his name!" he roars, springing to life like one of the enchanted stone _tekepi_in his libraries. His grip on his staff tightens until his fingers begin to ache.

The human female looks at him, wide-eyed and frightened, her baton raised in front of her protectively.

"Humans," he snorts, turning away from her. "Sometimes I understand why there were those on my homeworld that thought you should be ruled."

Already his mind is elsewhere, away from the irritating female, preparing for the battle to come. He steps forwards, away from the tower, as he looks towards the lane.

And into the face of Renekton.

The damp air of the alien planet freezes in his lungs as the malignant gaze of his brother fixes on him, paralyzing him more readily than any toxin. His glaive is already in motion, hurtling towards his head. Something brushes past his face, but instinct has taken over and he has no time for thought. The pages of a million scrolls fill his mind and his staff thrums in his hands as he brings it around in a desperate arc towards Renekton's side.  
It connects. The energy surges out and wracks his brother's body, pulling out a part of his lifeforce and dragging it back through the staff and into the Curator of the Sands. But…there are no wounds to heal.

He blinks. There is light, blazing all around Renekton, outlining every last scale. The Butcher of the Sands can only move his eyes.

The female stands with her baton outstretched, blue eyes—eyes like the desert sky, he thinks, as the light spills from her as if she is the sun—fixed on him.

"Are you alright?" she demands, pointing at Renekton. A bolt shoots from the end of the baton and ignites the prison around him. He collapses to the ground, roaring in agony, before the summoner's light envelops him and he is whisked away.

Nasus opens his mouth to say something, anything, but is interrupted by the sudden flash of terror on the female's face. The shadows twitch around her, and a thing with blades rears out of nothingness, starting to laugh…before it meets Nasus' heavily armored shoulder, driving it to the ground as he sweeps out a hand and forces the female back closer to the tower. His jade staff drinks up its essence as he stabs it through the path of darkness that looks like its head, but before he can truly kill it, it flees, the thing of fear reduced to fear.

Nasus takes a slow, deep breath, and rises from his knees.

"What is your name?" he asks, watching what looks like blood spill across her pale cheeks.

"Luxanna. Lux," she says. She looks nervously towards the brush, and Nasus touches her back in a gesture he believes is interpreted as comforting before he grips his staff more firmly and walks out to look for any more enemy champions.

It is later, when he catches sight of her running, the pale silk of her hair drenched in blood, the demon shadow closing in on her. The rest of the enemy team is just behind her. He pays them no mind and charges past her, drowning the shadow in quicksand and invoking fire from the earth under the feet of the advancing champions. He roars an incantation and hurtles past the hideous flesh creature at the van to slam into the winged female as the desert's fury erupts around him and through him, turning his skin to stone and changing the blood the sandstorm sheds into pure, bright power. Then they are upon him. A fusillade of spells from the fox woman and the winged female find their mark in his flesh, a hail of blows from the demon shadow and the undead abomination breaks through the protective embrace of the stone, and a vicious strike from his brother tears open his chest. He lays about him with his staff, drinking in their life energy to slow the death he knows is approaching. Dark cords wrap themselves around his body and the winged female, clutching at her side where a vivid bruise is forming on her pale skin, points at him.  
He closes his eyes and reaches for the summoner.

_Did she survive?_

_Yes, Nasus. Good work. _

He raises his staff for one last blow, and the dark cords tighten, forcing him to his knees. He manages to smash the tip into the winged female before her spell finishes.

The shadows explode, and he sighs as he falls into darkness.


	2. Sunrise

Chapter 2: Sunrise

They end up winning the battle. Nasus stands quietly by himself as the shards of the enemy Nexus rain down on his team, leaning on his staff and indulging in a moment of exhaustion. He'd died several times during the match, and although his sacrifices had kept the more fragile members of his team alive, it was…disconcerting, at least, to die and live again.

He feels sudden warmth and looks up to see Soraka smiling gently at him, her thin fingers wreathed in light. She is one of the champions whose name he has bothered to learn. Her form…comforts him, in a way. She is much too small, of course, and her face is far too human, but her furred legs and shining horn reminds him of the ram-headed of his kin.

"Thank you, Starchild," he rumbles, exhaling slowly as the heat sinks through his body, wiping away pain and weariness.

"You volunteered for the match against Noxus," she reminds him, her hooves clicking on the stones as she bends to pick up a piece of the enemy Nexus, "It's the least I can do, Curator of the Sands."

"The summoner needed little encouragement," he says, looking over her shoulders at the Noxian team. They were almost universally wearing snarls, except for the fox woman, who stares back at him.

"Ionia needed the victory," she says softly, glancing at him.

He growls softly and turns away from her, feeling his body ripple between flesh and stone as he stares off over the forest. He has devoured every scrap of knowledge thrust his way since he was summoned to this world, and he knows of Ionia's plight. If it moved him, ever so briefly, to pity…what of it? Was there an obligation, now?

He snarls, his hands tightening around his staff, and fills his mind with memories of the dusty shadows of his library. He can almost hear the timid footsteps of the humans, drifting through the shelves in wonder, the louder, but still respectful tread of his own kind.

Someone touches him and he shudders back to the present.

"What is it now?" he growls. He is forced to peer around to find the source of his interruption, a tiny bundle at his feet. Oh, spirits. Not one of the small creatures. Registana help him.

"We're to go to the summoning platform," it squeaks, and he winces.

"Yes, yes," he grumbles, squaring his shoulders and following the little speck, wincing whenever it bumped into him and shocked him. He falls in beside the Ionian bladesman and watches the small creature zip into place between him and Soraka. To his right, the pale human—no, she is…Luxanna—stands quietly, her lips trembling.

He realizes that she is speaking, hissing words under her breath.

"Victory for our allies, defeat for our enemies, and justice for all," she murmurs, over and over.

He is entirely unsure what to do. Was this normal behavior for a human? He shifts uneasily. She looks…unwell.

"Victory for our allies, defeat for our enemies, and justice for all."

The voice of the League announcer booms out suddenly and he uses all his will to keep himself from flinching. He is Nasus! Stoic. Untouchable.

"Victory for our allies, defeat for our enemies, and justice for all."

"Ionia is victorious! The unconditional release of the prisoners taken during the Noxian invasion has been won! The Noxian High Council is at this moment finalizing the preparations for their release! Congratulations, champions!" the announcer roars, and Soraka makes a soft, choked sound. He glances at her and frowns at the water streaming down her cheeks. Wasteful. Foolish. He was wrong. She would not last long in the desert.

"Victory for our allies, defeat for our enemies, and justice for all."

As long as he is being honest with himself…he feels surprisingly good about this victory. It had been too long since he had fought for a good cause. The last time…

"Victory for our allies, defeat for our enemies, and justice for all."

He shakes his head violently and returns his attention to Luxanna. He cannot tell if she is supposed to be this pale or not. As subtly as he can, he tries to compare her skin to the other females. This is a remarkably futile effort. After all, Soraka's skin is blue.

"Victory for our allies, defeat for our enemies, and justice for all."

"Champions, you may now exit the Fields of Justice!"

Blue light surrounds them, and he bares his teeth as he feels the summoning spells yank at him. Luxanna is still shaking. Still…muttering those words, letting them fall from her mouth like coals, already accepted pain.

"Victory for our allies, defeat for our enemies, and justice for all."

He cannot bear it. He has never allowed his charges to suffer needlessly. She needs aid, and he will help her. He does not understand what is causing her to act in this manner. Perhaps she is sick, lost in a fever brought on by the battle. It is of no matter. He is a seeker of knowledge, a keeper of secrets. Her pain is a puzzle and he is…flesh…flesh turned from stone by Ionia's agony, by the Starchild's desperate gratitude.

"Victory for our allies, defeat for our enemies, and justice for all."

Such a strange world, he thinks. Such a strange people.

"Victory for our allies, defeat for our enemies, and justice for all."

He sets his hand firmly on her shoulder, and lets the light whisk him out of existence.


	3. Glimmer

Chapter 3: Glimmer

He blinks away the disorientation as vision returns to him. The summoning chamber is dim, its walls a soft powder blue, all intended to provide a calming atmosphere for returning champions. He needs nothing more than a breath to cleanse the battle from his thoughts, of course, but there are others that have…difficulty.

The Ionians leave in a tight group, chattering excitedly about their victory and ignoring the hate-filled glares from their enemies. Slowly, the rest disperse, Renekton spitting on the floor as he passes. He waits impatiently for Lux, occasionally glancing at the only other figure in the room; the fox woman.

She is still staring.

"What do you require?" he finally asks. She smiles and moves closer, her tails draped around her.  
"Only what you want to give," she murmurs, and he blinks in confusion. He feels…extraordinarily odd. He glances downwards to make sure his breastplate hasn't fallen off somewhere along the way.

"I do not understand you, human," he growls, holding his staff warily.

"Nasus," she says, lingering over his name, "you feed on life, and it makes you stronger. You are like me."

Yes, he feels distinctly uncomfortable now.

"What of it?" he demands.

The fox-woman pauses, her brow furrowed. She frowns at him.

He looks back at her, completely bewildered.

"Argh!" she grumbles, and leaves in a huff. He stares after her, his eyes wide. What….what was the purpose…he cannot even begin to connect her actions together in a way that would make them make sense. Had she wanted something from him? Only what he wanted to give…what, by the vulture's mercy, did that mean? He snorts in disgust and purposefully looks away from the exit.

Finally, the little blond human appears in a shimmer of blue at his side.

"Luxanna," he says, relieved.

"Nasus," she greets him. She starts to walk out and he bars her way with the length of his staff.

"Are you unwell?" he asks bluntly as she looks at him quizzically.

"No," she says firmly. "Let me out, Nasus."

"You are not telling the truth, human," he growls. "Why were you saying those words? You are no _tekepi_, repeating a message to its master."

Her cheeks look like they are bleeding again and for a second he worries about finding a route to the healers. He doesn't actually smell any blood, though, so he relaxes and waits for her to answer.

"I get…uncomfortable when I volunteer for matches," she says finally. He grins at her, delighted. She must be nervous! He can figure out that she is nervous! A victory in the eternal struggle to understand the humans!

"You…performed well," he says hesitantly. "You were very efficient with your spells. You are extremely proficient with timing and aim. Your efforts resulted in the death of many. You…uh…did not bleed in copious amounts?"

Her blinding smile returns and he congratulates himself on his compliments. He must be learning swiftly. First nervousness and now this! If only the facial expressions were easier to understand, he mourns. The bestial heads of his kind did not allow for the same range of movement as humans'.

"Thanks, Nasus," she says brightly, patting his hand. "You were great, too."

Great? Great! He goes to all the effort of thinking of appropriate praise for her and she settles for 'great'!

"Well, I'm off! Have a marvelous day!" she chirps, ducks under his staff, and is gone.

He stomps out the door, still fuming. Great. Pfft.

He prefers to spend his time in the library. It is the only part of the Halls that is familiar, and not so terribly small. The chief librarian, an agreeable male called Madred, had jury-rigged several chairs together to form a comfortable seat for him, and there he sits, enjoying a late lunch.

He has actually retrieved some food, this time. While he satiates his hunger with a complex treatise on the Demacian royal family, he samples a selection of Runeterran fruits. He prefers to exist on knowledge alone in this realm. All of the food he has tried so far has been so alien as to be almost nauseating. Still, he perseveres. It is an amusing challenge, after all, to find something he likes to eat.

He growls at the strange yellow fruit in his hand. It is shaped like a miniature version of Renekton's glaive and it is frustratingly squishy. On the outside, it has a fibrous, bitter-tasting skin (as he finds out the hard way) but inside, it is sweet and delightful. The problem was separating the two.

The fruit pops and sends yellow gloop flying as he tries to tear it open with his claws. He snarls and purple flames erupt, devouring the mess in seconds while leaving the furniture untouched. Sadly, his spirit fire is mindless enough to have consumed the untouched fruit in his lap as well.

He sighs and leans back in his chair, turning to the next page.

The Crownguards, it says. Interesting. They are guardians of the Demacian royal line, it seems, a noble house that consistently pr—

Luxanna.

He holds the book in the light and peers closer. Luxanna Crownguard, it says. An unmatched prodigy from the College of Magic, a valued member of the Demacian military, renowned for covert operations in the heart of Noxus, a national hero before she hit twenty.

A Demacian…he hadn't thought that there were chatty Demacians.

Although, now that he thinks about it, he supposes that the odd female with the sword counted as chatty. He just hadn't been able to understand her. Her words were so garbled that he had been convinced that she was intoxicated, until she managed to kill all five members of the enemy team in a row.

Luxanna gets nervous, he wonders, looking at the illustration of her in her shining armor, baton at the ready. She certainly doesn't look like it in the picture. What impresses him most about the image is that she has the wisdom to cover her entire torso with armor to protect her vital organs, unlike the Noxian hero he read about yesterday. He pats his own golden armor smugly before he returns his attention to the book.

She…intrigues him, and he sees it as a learning opportunity. If he can understand one human female, maybe he has a shot at understanding them all. He doubts it, but he will try.

He reads late into the night, and when Madred finally forces him out of the library, he takes a book with him, one that was mentioned in the treatise.

It is called the Measured Tread.


	4. Prism

Chapter 4: Prism

The Measured Tread is by no means light reading. He is only half way through it when he is forced to go to sleep. By the time the morning bells stop tolling, he has already tucked it under his arm and walked out the door.

He briefly considers dropping by the dining hall for breakfast, as he had been too immersed in his reading to continue his experiments in human cuisine, but he decides against it after passing a window. The chance at getting to soak up some sunlight has him hurrying to the door to the gardens.  
He pushes it open and a rumbling sigh fills his chest as he steps out into the warmth. The gardens are lovely, filled with color and the trilling of birds and the trickle of water. Trees shade the path of pebbles and sand, and he stoops under a branch as he strolls along, taking deep breaths of the hot air. There is water everywhere he looks: trickling in thin streams over stones that glitter in the morning light, dripping from the petals of the long stemmed roses, lying in pools that shine like mirrors. He stops by a pond and stares at it, heedless of the white blossoms of the lilies or the tiny frogs or the slender, darting shadows in its depths. He is mesmerized by the sheer quantity of the water, its abundance and its purity, its color and its sound and its smell. The smell of water is the smell of life.

He dips his hand in the pond and smiles as the fish dart away from the intrusion. There is a stone shelf on one edge that juts out into the water, and there he decides to sit, placing the book reverently on the grass by his side. He leans down and unbuckles his greaves, then removes his chest plate and helmet, laying them out in the sunlight as he eases himself onto the shelf and lets his legs dangle in the water.

His fur, dark and coarse on his chest, finer on his face and hands, is a rich, glistening brown in the sunlight and he chuckles in quiet delight as the wind ruffles it. He has not been without his armor in a very long time. It surprises him that he feels safe enough here to remove it. He smells humans in these gardens, after all. He must have more faith in the League's rules than he thought.

He lays the book in his lap and delicately lifts a single page with his claw, turning to another wearisome measure of repetitive phrases. These sentences, each group separated by a finger's breadth on the page, are all dreadfully similar, extolling honor, victory, loyalty, or death before defeat in any number of tiresome ways. The treatise had assured him that this was the handbook for any self-respecting Demacian, read again and again by the army's recruits. He wonders how any of them could stomach re-reading such a boring work.

It is, in its way, actually disturbing. The words are those of a zealot, or a fanatic, devoted beyond all thought to his country…or her country. If it is the definitive text for all Demacian…such a single-minded focus could mold minds. He has read works intended for such a purpose before. The Black Sands Doctrine of the slave race his people had discovered, huddling in ancient, ruined cities comes to mind. We live to serve the Masters. Serving the Masters is an honor. We love to serve.

Victory for our allies, defeat for our enemies, and justice for all.

It makes sense that Luxanna Crownguard would have read the Measured Tread. The treatise said she had served in the military…

He frowns and slams the book shut. He has to think about this. His curiosity is leading him to unpleasant places. If a time comes that he knows the female well enough to ask the questions seething at the edges of his mind, then he will ask them and let all the winds take him if they will. He will lay this project aside.

Someone coughs behind him and he has to let his body return partway to stone to keep from yelping like a child. Why must they always sneak up on him, he fumes silently, why do these humans have such dreadfully quiet feet?

"Yes?" he asks after a bout of undignified coughing caused by his suddenly constricted airway.

Something shimmers at the edge of his eyesight, and as he watches, the light folds away to reveal Luxanna, sprawled on a bench, her golden hair spread out in waves. She smiles at him and he flushes, suddenly acutely aware of how ridiculous he must look.

He also prudently pushes the Measured Tread under a bush.

"Luxanna," he greets her.

"Good morning, Nasus!" she says brightly. All hints of the strange episode she had in the match are gone. She beams at him as she pushes herself up.

Hesitantly, he smiles back at her. She is so filled with joy that he feels a little of it himself. She is so bright, this human, a beautiful prism caught in the light on a sunny day.

"You look well," he says after a frantic moment where he scrambles for words.

"I just love sunny days," she chirps, leaning back and staring up at the sky. Suddenly, her head snaps back towards him and he freezes.

"You should call me Lux," she prompts him gently, her eyes dancing. He blinks at her words.

"That's very informal," he mutters disapprovingly.

"It's supposed to be," she says, suddenly hopping up. She runs up to him, and giggling, touches his shoulder. He feels her tiny fingers run through his fur, brushing lightly over his skin, and cannot move. Then, she darts off.

"I've got to get breakfast, but I'll be back!" she yells over her shoulder, and Nasus stares after her, his jaw slack. Something had tightened in him when she touched him and now his shoulder is tingling, actually tingling.

It is…pleasant.


	5. Singularity

Chapter 5: Singularity

He pulls his legs out of the pond as the last sounds of her footsteps fades, sighing regretfully as he stands up and steps away from the water. His fur is perfectly dry an instant after it touches the air as his body sucks up the moisture, a desert-born trait this wet world renders unnecessary. He attempts to keep these gardens in the same place in his mind as the fountain paths outside his library; a luxury, permitted as long as it remains harmless.

He sighs and rolls his shoulder, his face heating as he glances back at the path. He quickly refastens his armor, shivering as he buckles the cold metal over his chest. It hums slightly as it readjusts to him, tightening itself in some places, loosening in others, warming quickly until it is the same temperature as his skin and as comfortable as a piece of apparel meant to protect vital organs can be. The jewels on his helm and chestplate glow briefly as dozing spells return to wakefulness. He checks over them idly, inspecting the runes that bloom briefly with a critical eye, and nods with satisfaction. He trusts his spellwork enough that he really shouldn't need to check it every time he put his armor back on, but the habit remains.

He is fairly certain that Lux's parting words have leashed him to the immediate area, but the energizing effect of the sunlight makes him crave the opportunity to stretch his muscles. He leaves the clearing as a brisk walk, his ears twitching as he listens for voices. He doesn't have to go far before he can see figures between the gaps in the trees. The path splits and he takes the fork that heads towards them.

The trees open up into a fairly large field, the grass clipped short to flatten the surface. The Ionian blademaster from the match he fought the day before is there with a creature that he finds instantly familiar, a monkey the size of a human, armored in brilliant red and yellow and gesticulating with a slender staff. Standing off to the side is Soraka, and two human females he is unfamiliar with. One is so unassuming as to forgettable, dark-clothed and fanning herself in the shade. The other makes him stare in amazement. A ornate blade of four parts, centered around a glittering ball of energy, floats in front of her, idly changing shape as she talks with the Starchild. She seems little more than a child, a heartbeat in the life of his kind, but there is something in her eyes that chills him despite the sunshine.

All of them, of course, look up as he steps into the clearing.

"Good morning," he says politely.

"Nasus," Soraka says, smiling. "This is the volunteer for yesterday's match I was telling you about, Irelia."

The quiet female looks at him silently and snaps her fan shut with a quick motion before she holds out her hands to him. Unsure, he walks to her and grips her hands lightly. He feels the fan, smooth and hard, as it presses into his palm.

"You are a gentle one, Knower," she says gently, craning her neck to look him in the face, "you have left your charges behind you and cannot use your wisdom to protect your people any longer, and your duty weighs upon your soul. Let this weight be lifted by what you do on this world, for there are wrongs to be righted and hurts to mend and innocents to guard a plenty."

He is speechless as she squeezes his hands and lets go, her dark eyes deep as quicksand as they gaze into his. Relief washes over him, so strong it almost brings tears to his eyes, as he feels something he did not know was aching inside him relax at her words.

"Are you…Irelia?" he asks finally. She shakes her head, smiling slightly.

"No, Nasus. I am called Karma, the currency earned by good an evil deeds."

The female in red chuckles off to his side. "Nah, I'm Irelia. Sorry about Karma. She tends to forget how discomfiting her insights are."

He shakes his head, looking at Karma with new respect. "No, I would not say discomfiting. You see without sand in your eyes,_ registraneya_, and I thank you for your wisdom."

Karma flicks her fan open to hide her face as Irelia laughs, and he pauses his fascinated inspection of every minute detail of Karma's features to glare at her.

"It is good to see you," Soraka says earnestly after jabbing Irelia in the ribs with the hilt of her sickle, "but, surely, we can save the philosophy for another time…unless you did visit the sparring field to talk with the Enlightened One?"

He glances around his surroundings, making a note on his mental map of the gardens. Oh, he was going to be coming here often.

"I had hoped to come across such a place," he says eagerly, nodding to the blademaster and the monkey as they approach, "but I thought I would be accosting other visitors to the gardens, rather than happening across a space built for such a purpose."

"It's really just a nice field," the monkey says, thrusting his staff firmly into the ground and scampering up it to perch on the top, grinning madly.

"My indifferent student in the art of Wuju means that we champions have adapted this space for our purposes," the blademaster explains, holding his sword lightly between his hands. "We all tend to get the urge to practice our skills and learn a little from each other. There is such an amazing variety of fighting styles here that there is much to adapt to, and a little practice with the champions outside the Fields tends to make you do better inside."

He looks at the blademaster's sword and it reminds him of the match, and when he thinks of the match he thinks of Luxanna, and then he remembers the touch and feels hot all over again. The blademaster is still talking, but his thoughts are already elsewhere. How could such a thing have rattled him so? It had been so…painfully odd to have a human touch him in such a personal fashion. If she had patted him on his armored back it would have been surprising but not as dreadfully strange.

He was not used to such a thing. He had been isolated in his library, surrounded and sustained by knowledge but separated from friends and family by his duty. His last, brief flirtation with idea of taking a mate had been almost a hundred years ago, a human lifetime. Not long enough for him to forget raven-headed T'sa's taloned hands brushing his face as they watched the moons rise, but long enough for him to be unfamiliar with…touching.

And he had liked it, despite everything, and that bothers him. He frowns and looks up to catch the end of what the blademaster is saying.

"—which of us would you like to spar?" he finishes, what is visible of his mouth under his elaborate goggles smiling.

"Karma," he says instantly, catching her hiding her face again in the corner of his eye. The monkey makes a noise of surprise echoed by both Irelia and the blademaster, who tilts his head in confusion.

"Unusual choice," Soraka comments idyly.

"Oh, sparring!" he hears, and he sighs as Lux flickers into visibility, tapping her baton against a tree.  
"Welcome back," he growls at her, and she smiles at him. His exasperation melts like the cups of snow in the marketplace at Argent. There is something about her, he thinks again, watching the sunlight shimmer around her. She carries the light with her.

"Oh, I just wanted to see where Garen had run off to," she says, "but you're going to spar with Karma? I've never seen anyone pick her first, before."

"She's the most interesting," he replies, and Irelia huffs, folding her arms.

"Well, you'll want to watch out for the fans, of course," Lux comments, rubbing her chin thoughtfully. "She doesn't need the wind for them, either, so don't let still air fool you into thinking she can't hit you."

Tactical advice? Really? He gestures for her to go on.

"Really, I would think with all your physical prowess, it should be in your favor, but she's exquisitely poised and has more discipline that even Master Yi, there," Lux continues, waving at the Ionian blademaster as she mentions him. Master Yi looks disgruntled by her analysis, he thinks, but he is impressed. She reminds him, now, of how she was at the start of the match; incredibly well-informed, and precise as a knife.

"It'll be good practice for you," she concludes, smiling at him. "You're a physical fighter, so you'll need practice versus magic opponents."

"The League cannot grasp the breadth of my knowledge," he retorts, tightening his gauntlets with a thought, "on the Fields, I am restricted to a few, base techniques that they find familiar. I assure you, I have fought sorcerers' duels before. Still, I enjoy improving without the power of the Scrolls to aid me, and, as I am to be limited in future matches, I wish to learn how to fight with my abilities restricted."

Her eyes widen and he recognizes the look there. He knows the hunger for knowledge all too well.

"Let's give them some room, then," Soraka says to Lux, her voice warm. Startled, she breaks his gaze and nods.

He heads for the center of the field with Karma close behind. As he turns from Lux, he feels her hand touch the back of his arm in the space between his gauntlets and his breastplate, and warmth shoots through him, putting his emotions right back into turmoil.

"Good luck," she breathes, and he nods without looking back.


	6. Spirit Fire

Chapter 6: Spirit Fire

He watches Karma curiously as they stop at the center of the field. She brings out another fan for her other hand and inspects it carefully before she looks back up at him. Perhaps she wonders where his jade staff is? He thinks he could snap her in half like a twig with his bare hands, so slender and frail she looks in her black dress. He sometimes finds it hard to believe that the humans survive without the ability to change their skin to spell-drinking stone. He can only be thankful that his soul still remains connected the desert sands, even a world apart.

He smiles at Karma and reaches out a hand to the empty space beside him.

"_Echa_," he says, and the air thrums with the word as his staff appears in his hand, brilliantly green in the sunlight. The moment his fingers touch it the vibrations ceases, the deep note of his magic fading away into echoes and then silence. It is another few breaths before the birds resume their singing.

"Lovely," Karma says softly. "Was that your language, then?"

"I suppose you could call it that," he says, looking off into the distance as the echoes die out, at the green-gold light shining through the trees. He swallows down his thoughts until his throat stops burning.

"It means come," he says, turning back to her, "it is not so difficult a thing to ask of one's favorite weapon."

He hears Irelia laugh and Soraka hisses, "Shush! We all know you're special!" Humans. He doesn't think it was funny.

He readies himself as Karma flicks open her fans and with a short, shared nod he calls power to the head of his staff and lunges for her. A flick of his wrist sends his staff twirling to catch her on her side. He hopes he won't break all of her ribs, but he supposes that the Starchild can fix just about any injury.

Karma snaps one fan out to the side and the other towards him. His staff smashes into the thin handle of her fan and stops with a jolt that leaves his hand numb, and as he snarls and snatches it back to his side he hears a whistle. From her outstretched fan, between the folds of jet-colored paper, come a swarm of miniature knives, and he can barely jerk up his armored forearm fast enough to protect his eyes. There is a series of pings as her blades bounce off his armor, but a few find the same gap as Luxanna Crownguard and he grits his teeth against the wave of wracking energy that erupts when they pierce his skin. With a jerk of his own magic the blades drop from his arm and into the grass, and he growls as he shakes his head briskly. He raises his empty hand and pictures the grains of time, falling gently down on Karma's head as she pulls her fans back to her chest.

_Slow._

The wind stirs the top of the grass and begins to swirl around Karma as she points her fans at him again. The glittering points of her knives have only just left her fans before sand surrounds her, whipping in a golden veil that catches her blades and leaves them hanging in midair. Her superhuman composure flickers and for a second he thinks he sees her mouth part in shock. A curl of her dark red hair escapes from the curling metal rings that hold it back from her face as she whips her fans around them, sudden gusts sending the sand flying. Her knives, released, drop to the ground. He grips the shaft of his staff with both hands and slashes at her with its pointed tip through the roaring wind. It catches her on the shoulder and he grits his teeth as he feels it tear through her skin. The air around her flickers as he brings his staff around for another blow and it smashes against a wall of force around her, the ruby teardrops painted under her eyes glowing as he feeds more energy into his staff and cracks it down on the barrier. Another wave of blades from her fans, passing through the shell without pause, forces him to draw back, the jeweled ankh on his chestplate glowing as it sends them spinning away.

Karma snaps her fans closed and points them at him, a brilliant white line extending from their tips to his chest. He stumbles, feeling the drain on his spirit as it is forced together with hers. He can see her will shining around her as he falters, holding his staff before him defensively as, unblinking, she stares at him and opens one fan to send yet more blades his way.

Her will is liquid silver, radiant in its purity and certainty, and its discipline is unbreakable. It batters against him and he finds himself unable to shield his eyes again. So inwards he looks, and his fur stands on end as stone covers him. The blades shatter on his cheeks and he smiles internally, focusing on their spiritual battle. He calls on experience rather than pure determination to fend her off, somewhat ashamed that his will is more fragile than that of a slip of a human female. He sends centuries of guardianship in an amber torrent and the bond shatters, leaving him gasping for breath, his muscles infinitely lightened, but filled with peculiar regret as he feels her essence slip away. It had been so beautiful.

He returns to flesh and watches the glowing teardrops on her face go dark. She smiles at him and tucks her extra fan back into her belt, bowing her head slightly. Her breathing is even, her clothes immaculate, her skin the same dark gold. Only the spreading wetness on her sleeve and the rip at her shoulder show any sign that she has been fighting.

"There is nothing I have ever seen that is as strong as your will," he says quietly.

"You are not without conviction," Karma replies, looking at him with a particular intensity, "but my duty to Ionia is my life. All of my life."

"Have you no room for anything else?" he asks, stumbling a little over the words. They are…blunt. He hopes she is not offended.

A shadow of something passes over her face and her mouth twists as she shakes her head.

He is…disappointed.

She walks away with her head held high and he follows silently, letting his staff slip through space back to his room as he goes. Irelia runs forwards to be the first to greet them, clasping her hands together as her sword spins giddily over her head.

"That was amazing! I've never seen anyone who could fight off her spirit bond the first time they experience it! You're quite something, aren't you?" she says merrily, but on her last words he thinks he catches a glimpse of the darkness he'd seen earlier in her. It didn't sound like a compliment.

She looks him up and down and he wonders what she thinks.

"He's a friend, Irelia," Soraka murmurs behind the little red-armored girl, and her cheeks darken.

"Just want to be prepared," she says shortly, then smiles at him again. He reaches out and cautiously grips her armored shoulder and squeezes it, hoping he gauged the pressure at friendly and not bone-breaking. She laughs and pats his hand.

Pressure was friendly! Good guess, there.

"I'm surprised you didn't use your spirit fire to get past her shield," the Ionian blademaster comments, scratching at his chin.

"I didn't want to set the meadow on fire by accident," he growls, and the monkey cackles.

"Hah! Didn't want to hurt the pretty lady, he means!"

He blinks in confusion as Karma ducks behind her fan. Soraka raises her sickle purposefully and the monkey flees as brilliant strips of violet light fall out of the sky on top of him, scorching him through his armor. His yelps fade into the distance as Nasus chuckles. The Starchild huffs and lays a hand on Karma's bleeding shoulder, which glows briefly before the bloodstains vanish and the rip knits itself back together.

He waves Soraka off when she tries to heal the pricks in his elbow.

"It's nothing," he insists after she puts her hands on her hips and glares at him.

"Men," she snorts.

He decides against reminding her that is not, in fact, a human male. He moderately certain it won't actually do him any good.

"I should go collect Wukong," the blademaster sighs, nodding politely at the females and clasping his hand briefly.

"And I think I'll be taking these two to lunch," Soraka says firmly. Irelia grins and her blade splits into a thousand fragments, whizzing around her like a deadly swarm of butterflies.

Karma holds out her hands to him and he takes them briefly, his thumb rubbing against the hard handle of her fan once again. It looks so deceptively fragile. Much like her.

He can feel her will now, an impenetrable shell around her that moves with her like a second skin, and out of curiosity he reaches out with his own mind and nudges against the silver veil. It ripples and he distantly hears her gasp.

She rips her hands out of his and runs after Soraka and Irelia.


	7. Infinite

Chapter 7: Infinite

_How many grains of sand are there in the desert?__  
_  
He watches Karma run and wonders what he has done wrong.

_Do you know, Nasus?_

Lux giggles and he rolls his shoulders, wincing as the motion pulls at the pinpricks in his arms. He is careful not to let the head of his staff touch her as he folds his hands around it.

"_Ah'ke_," he says, the words rumbling deep in his chest, and his staff is gone.

"Go?" she asks.

"It means return," he growls, but his teeth flash briefly in a smile. She is charming. He looks up at the sky and sighs as the sun's rays play on his face.

_No one knows that, Keeper Toht._

"We should get back to the Institute," he suggests diplomatically, before the friendly growl he intends to follow his words with freezes in his chest. He forgot about the Measured Tread! He, the Curator of the Sands, left a book to the ravages of the elements. And worse, it was sacred to Demacia—and Lux. Registana's mercy, what would she think of him?

Unease curls in him as Lux cheerfully shoulders her baton. "Sounds good!" she chirps. "I think I'm due for a match right after noon."

"It looks about that time," he growls. Lux scrunches up her lips and he twitches, staring at them in fascination. Her whole face is pinched up. Her face is so mobile he worries she might have an injury before her skin relaxes back to its normal brows. One of the thin strips of fur above her eyes raises.

"Nasus?" she asks.

"Nothing," he mutters hastily.

_Are you certain?__  
_  
He has to get back to the pond, retrieve the book, restore it with his powers, and put it back in the library. Preferably without Lux knowing anything about it. They start walking back to the Institute and he assumes his most quietly thoughtful expression even as he frantically schemes.

"So," Lux says, "You've been here for awhile?"

"Months," he says. Was it years? So many champions had come, now…the fox woman, the cold, cruel warrior of the moon, the lion huntsmaster. The last made him piercingly, painfully nostalgic for his homeworld. He had even emerged from his seclusion to greet him, cautiously friendly.

"How fares the Endless Empire?" he had asked, and Rengar had snarled, angry and suspicious, his claws scratching at the air, that he had no idea what Nasus was talking about, and that he should leave before Rengar took his head for his wall.

And, well, that was that.

There was no point…no place beyond the library he had wished to be, the creatures of this place so alien and frustrating that his hunger for knowledge lay subsumed by loneliness and despair. After a time his summons became less frequent as newer champions gained the spotlight, and he had been left to himself in the library.

She had changed it all—and it made him wonder why no one had ever greeted him before. The humans were not like his own kind. Perhaps it was the champions that had influenced him so—there were few of the truly good and virtuous among their ranks, and those avoided him. He was, after all, a monster in their eyes.

Lux's tiny hand brushed the fur of his wrist and he looks down to see her face wrinkled with worry.

"Are you alright?" she asks, and suddenly he feels a great pity for her, for the black lines of the Measured Tread that had tormented her. She was a kind soul and she had no place here, among these people.

"I am better now," he says. "Tell me of the champions that were in our match."

She laughs and complies with delight.

They pass the clearing that contains the pond and Nasus cannot help but give it a panicked look. He does not dare stop, so he and Lux pass by without pause. The fox woman, draped in rich, rich blue like the midnight paint of the night sky, walks by them without a word, her strange eyes flickering over his face in a way that makes him deeply uncomfortable.

And she sees the look. He can tell. She twines one of her long tails around her hand and glances at him, and he looks at her stonily.

There is something about her…he would call her…appealing. Something in her face, or her scent, or her manner, draws him to her. He smell the magic around her, like dead, decaying flowers, and it puts him on his guard. Her attraction is false and repellent at its core, and he finds it easy to resist. On the battlefield…he has had the unpleasant experience of being afflicted by her charm, rendered speechless and helpless by his loneliness.

It brings a bad taste to his mouth and his look changes into a glare. She flinches and hurries past

"Ahri," Lux says softly.

"She's the last one on the enemy team, " he growls. "You told me about Morgana, Sion, and Nocturne already."

"They say she drinks souls," Lux says. He looks down to see her fingers brushing his fur again. Her face is paler than it was before. He reaches over to pat her shoulder, wincing as his clumsy fingers brush her armor.

"Do not be afraid," he says, and softly, in his own tongue and then in hers, "_Nek'asha'mei_, I am a protector from the unknown and my knowledge and the strength of my people will be your shield."

Behind her head appears a tiny, winking light, which he swiftly wills out of existence. He had put no magic in the words but it is eager to come around her.

Her eyes soften as she looks at the ground. "That's lovely," she says. "What does it mean?"

"I—" he growls, and a sudden sense of the mischievous overtakes him. "Figure it out, little sorceress."

She laughs and her shining hair sweeps out from her in a cloud. "Very well. She's not actually a bad person, just…scary, sometimes."

"I see," he says, with no truth whatsoever. They pass inside the garden gate and Lux's face lights up at the sight of a slender man, skin the color of hot chocolate, with short black hair. His eyes hold a glitter of intelligence that makes Nasus pause to examine him more thoroughly.

"That's Ilarin," Lux whispers, and his ears twitch to hear her.

Lux pats his gauntlet and leaves his side to join the summoner. Nasus gives him a warning look that the human answers with a sly smile.

The two leave together and he sighs softly at the loss of his company. It does give him a chance to go back and search the gardens, however.

As he turns to leave (having first made sure they are out of sight), he nearly runs over Ahri, who curls her tails about herself protectively.

"Forgive me," he says shortly, and makes to step around her. Quick as a snake, her hand flashes out to grip his wrist.

He bares his teeth at her and is about to wrench his arm away when she wordlessly presses a thoroughly wet and muddy book into his hand.

"What—" he says, startled, and she smiles at him and vanishes into the crowd.

He stands there for a moment, thoroughly bemused, before he starts walking quickly towards the library, spells already running down his hands.

_Yes, I'm certain._

_That is good, Nasus. There are certain things that we were never meant to know._


	8. Light Binding

Chapter 8: Light Binding

Nasus runs through the halls of the Institute like his tail is on fire.

He certainly doesn't have one. It is actually faintly amusing when he gets the inevitable question from most-to-all of the female champions he encounters, since the only members of his kind that had tails were the females.

As a side benefit of this evolutionary fact, he understands what the human idiom "get some tail" means.

As he passes under countless identical dark blue archways, he imagines Lux, her bright smiling face and sky-colored eyes, wearing perhaps the sand-colored dress of a priestess of Registrana, her hair held back by a circlet of gold and sapphires. She tends to the holy edicts on the walls of the Fane of Learning, the way leading to his library, brushing off gathered sand with a cloth, her tail switching rhythmically behind her, fur the color of sunlight and tufted on the end.

He starts and blinks away the daydream. What a thing to think of!

Nasus shakes his head briskly, leaping over the yordle with the spiked gloves standing at the entrance to the library. He smells the space-warping magic before he sees it pulse around the tiny creature's fingers, and a blast of his spirit fire singes the fur on the creature's face.

"I'm busy," he growls, and Veigar meekly sticks his gloves behind his back.

He shoulders open the heavy doors and nods a companionable greeting to Madred, who is surrounded by a bevy of strangely garbed humans and human-like creatures. There are four in total: a being of sizzling energy that is a painfully bright, unnatural blue; a woman in a mixture of black armored plates and scraps of cloth that protect very few of her vital organs, with three floating spheres orbiting around her long, white hair; Ryze, who he recognizes as a friendly enough sort, using his tattooed elbows to push the others out of the way; and the dark-winged female, Morgana, who he so clearly remembers from his last match.

The bookcase the Measured Tread goes on is right in front of them.

Oh, by Registrana's scales…!

He tucks the book firmly under his arm and starts to try and push through the crowd. The energy creature makes his fur stand on end when he bumps into it accidentally, and it turns its helmet on him with eyeless condescension.

"Curator Nasus," it says with a crackle of power.

"…_Tekepi_," Nasus says after a moment of thought. He frowns critically and adds, "poorly bound _tekepi_."

Madred gulps as the creature turns on him fully and raises a clawed, amorphous hand. Ryze takes the opportunity to grab the scroll from Madred's satchel and mutters, "Barrier, ah, finally, the summoners are so very slow these days…"

Morgana joins the orb-woman in laughing at his predicament, and Nasus sighs. Does no one appreciate how busy he is?

"_Nek'asha'mei!_" he snarls, and the three shriek in pain as dazzling light bursts in front of them. Nasus, who prudently put a paw over his eyes before he cast the spell, shoulders through them and shoves the book onto the shelf.

"Simple fools," the energy creature growls, and Nasus barely has time to shout the nine protective runes of the shell before a torrent of hissing, violet-azure light washes over him.

"Stop it!" Morgana hisses, tugging on his arm, "You want to get thrown out again?"

Madred cowers behind Nasus's spell as he glares at the energy creature.

"How dare you fight in a place of knowledge!" he roars.

"Idiot men," the orb-woman comments. "Get out, Xerath."

"I am no slave bound in fragments of stone," Xerath crackles, staring at Nasus. Spools of energy drift off the floor and touch his body. "We of Old Shurima knew of your kind, Curator, and you are no gods!"

"I apologize," he says calmly. "I thought Madred had listened to my advice—this place needs a _tekepi_ desperately—and simply done it wrong."

"Are you crazy?" Madred hissed. "I wouldn't touch that spell with King Javan's lance."

"There's been a new spell approved for use on the Fields," Morgana said, her ravaged face curling into a sneer. "Why don't you just give it to us to study, Madred, and we'll see no need to intrude in this dusty hole any longer."

"Ryze took it," Nasus said immediately, and pointed out the door.

"Ryze—!? That bastard—"the orb-woman said, and instantly the three were pushing each other to get out the door fastest. Nasus murmurs "_ah'ke_" and his shield vanishes, the spell returned to the Great Library.

"Thank you, Nasus," Madred says fervently, shaking his hand. Nasus looks down at him, slightly bemused.

"You are welcome," he growls, and Madred shifts nervously.

"Well, there's one more thing," the librarian says hesitantly, "someone's in your spot, if you're here for—well, breakfast and lunch both, I suppose."

"Who is it?" he asks.

"The Prophet of the Void," Madred says, lowering his voice to a whisper, "Malzahar."

They sit in opposite armchairs and studiously avoid one another's gaze.

"Nice weather we're having," Malzahar says gloomily.

"Yes, lovely," he says, shifting uncomfortably. He'd brought along a filling mystery, with a slender romance novel for dessert and a refreshing scientific text to quench his thirst. The Prophet of the Void readings a book whose cover he had hidden completely with his long, flowing sleeves.

This is no help at all to protect him from Nasus, who knows the contents of every book around him.

"Women: What Makes Them Tick?" he inquires after several uncomfortable moments. Malzahar jumps so high that a voidling pops out of his heavily embroidered trouser legs.

The purple blob climbs its way up to the armrest and fans the cowled face of its master.

"Ulp," the Prophet of the Void stammers.

"Something on your mind?" he asks kindly, concealing the raging curiosity that's gnawing at his mind. Why, this was a perfect opportunity to find out more about the morphological changes of being exposed to void energy, how it effects emotions and desire, and most importantly—Malzahar might let him borrow the book.

Malzahar puts his head in his hands and mutters something that sounds rather like bucket. Nasus raises an eyebrow. A bucket? He likes buckets? Maybe he means helmets—his face is covered, too, and so is Kassadin's, now that he thinks about it. Maybe the Void carries with it a compulsion to hide one's face, a subtle signal of deception!

"She's not even really alive," Malzahar groans. "There's something so lifeless, so disturbing about her, and yet a peculiar joy at death and destruction—"

Wait, what?

"—just like me—"

Was he talking about—

"—the totally alien Lady of Clockwork, Orianna."

Nasus sat there, totally stunned. The mechanical wasn't even made of flesh, not remotely the same species, skinned with metal, totally different, and yet _he was still attracted_.

The last few words ring in his head as he stares at his hands.

"There's even a ball a few days from now," Malzahar continues, "I have no idea what to do."

The voidling sighs mournfully and dissolves into a puff of smoke.

"All will be well," Nasus says automatically. "Simply attend this gathering and approach the Lady there."

"Will go you as well?" Malzahar asks, drying his eyes with a particularly limp voidling that has crawled out of his collar. "I understand you want to learn more about human interactions, Curator."

"Yes, that's true," Nasus says. "Perhaps I will."

He stands, suddenly restless. He wants to see how Lux's match is getting on.

As he leaves, bidding Malzahar farewell, he sees the title of the book's latest chapter.

It is called "Compliments."


	9. Lucidity

_**A quick Author's Note: Hi, guys, it's great to see you all on ! In these first few chapters, I've been working on introducing the champions, most of which I'm giving special love and attention to, I own. Now that Ahri, Orianna, Malzahar, and Evelynn, my favorite mid AP carries, have had their mention, I'm ready to start moving onwards…welcome along for the ride.**_

_**Thank you for your sweet review, Guest, which inspired me to get Lucidity up tonight. Also, to Schadenfreude555, I hope the story has answered your question **___

_**I'm interested in hearing what you are thinking about the plot and how I might move forwards, and anything you might like to see more of. Personally, I'm leaning towards another big league fight in the 3**__**rd**__** chapter after this one.**_

_**And the next two chapters will be most interesting…**_

_**Enjoy!**_

Chapter 9: Lucidity

Compliments, he thinks. How do you compliment a human?

Nice fur, he mouths experimentally. No, that wouldn't do at all, unless he was speaking to the cat-woman or Rengar, and he doesn't think either of them would take that well.

He strides along the corridors towards the spectating rooms, his face stern with thought. Who could help him understand human flattery? He needed someone who had been on both sides of compliments, someone that was an expert at getting their way, clever, cunning, beguiling…

He stared for a moment too long at a particularly rich splash of blue on the wall, shook his head, and moved on. He wanted to see how Lux was getting along, especially after the disturbing turn she'd taken during their first match together. The Measured Tread, her illness, the match—they had to be connected somehow. She would know, and unless he decided to lift the information carefully from her mind, like a book with pages too worn to read with his eyes, he would have to figure out how to get her to confide in him. In time, she should, but he had the sense that he needed to solve this mystery, quickly. There was something…something in the air, something that made senses that had experienced thousands of years of protecting his library prickle in alarm. In all the time in the League, it had only happened once, when Xerath had touched him this morning.

Thus…compliments.

Maybe.

He smiles slightly as his ears perk up with the sounds of the spectating rooms. It was nice to have a project, something to distract his mind from the unease he felt about Xerath. And while he watched, he could do some maintenance on his claws and armor. With this in mind, he breathes a word of power, and catches a heavy disk of sandstone as it drops out of the empty air. Carved on its face is a scarab, pincers wide, with a circle of glass set in its forehead. Under the glass, dark, verdant mist roiled, cramped in the small space.

Ahead, an archway had a huge, grotesque eye carved out of the stone in the center, spidery gold runes around it announcing:

_**LIVE SPECTATING**_

ASK A NOVICE SUMMONER BY AN OPEN VIEWING CRYSTAL

TO SHOW YOU A MATCH OF YOUR CHOOSING!

CITY STATE MATCHES IN THE CENTER HALL

NO MAIMING

"Not even a little?" a slender female asks the door guard, her lips pushed up in a pout. Her skin is the color of blueberries, if they were crushed and mixed with blood, and she is wearing a… lattice of straps that stripes her long legs and arms, but only barely goes over her chest.

He shivers. With his senses, he sees the malice dripping off her like poison, thick and shiny on the tips of her clawed hands.

"Not even a little, Widowmaker," the guard said sternly, his hand dropping to the hilt of the mageblade Nasus senses hidden in a simple sheath. "Now take the limiter, and I can let you in. And no, before you ask, you can't enter without it, the League doesn't like it when matches get interfered with."

The female cackles and pats him on the cheek.

"Oh, you don't need to worry about little old me," she croons, digging in her nails a little, and Nasus frowns, his hands tightening around the scarab stone, at the scent that laces the air. The guard licks his lips as she leans forwards and runs the same hand down his chest, leaning forwards to purr, "I'll just get it for you." Her other hand goes the guard's belt, strung with many tiny violet vials, and passes over them as she reaches for the hilt—

He hesitates no longer.

The scene freezes. Calmly, he lets the sands of time spill into the hand he has thrust into the hourglass. As they collect, he walks towards the female, watching the particles in the air move away from him and leave a trail behind him as they float, motionless.

He pulls his hand out and throws the grains at her, and time snaps back to normal. The guard blinks, and recoils away from her as she grimaces and tries to whip around, only to find herself trapped as if the air has turned to quicksand around her. Slowly, she rotates her eyes wide and furious.

He reaches through the golden veil of sand around her and grabs her by her slender throat, heaving her up into the air.

"Your soul will be measured," he growls, and she flinches as he pulls at her essence, tearing it away from her and sending it to his staff, floating quietly in the Deserts Between until he needs it. Then he drops her, and wills time forwards as he does, so she slams into the floorstones.

To his surprise, she chuckles throatily, and he realizes that, impossibly fast, she had flipped herself over and caught herself.

"Nasus," she coos. "I was only playing, you know."

"You are evil and I do not trust you," he growls. "I am a protector and this man will be protected."

"She's being honest," the guard commented wryly, "she does this every time."

He turns to look at him, his jaw hanging open, and the female laughs.

"Poor Curator. You are so very quick to judge," she says, and he shifts in his discomfort, hunching his shoulders. His mind aches from the strain of the time spell, the most powerful version of the incantation called "wither" on the Fields of Justice. "Still," the Widowmaker adds playfully, "I don't blame you. You're right about me, of course, but I'm not stupid enough to feed in the Institute."

She winks at him, and vanishes into the shadows after snatching a vial from the guard's belt and swallowing it in one minute. He growls, and then snarls and shudders as cold lips press against his ear.

"My name is Evelynn, doggy," she hisses, "and I may be bad…but I feel _good_."

He silently reaches out a hand to the guard, takes a vial, and pours it into his mouth. It tastes terrible, and he gags as he swallows and feels his link to his mental archives of knowledge and his access to the Deserts Between snap closed. He tucks the disc under his arm and strides inside.

He knows where Evelynn is going, if not where she is. He needs her, and Ahri.

Two females, skilled in seduction. If they can't help him, no one can.


	10. Final Spark Part One

_**This chapter got so long I decided I was going to break it up so I could get it out to you earlier. Enjoy!**_

Chapter 10: Final Spark

Part One

When he steps through the doorway, he is plunged into a miasma of noise, smoke, and heat. Crowds of summoners and champions, mostly mingling in with their own kind, are gathered around various pits sunk into the stones. In the center of the depressions are diamond-shaped, slender crystals. As he watches, he sees the dark-winged female, Morgana, step up to one and touch it with one of her blackened hands. Instantly, light and color springs up from the pale depths of the crystal, exploding into images above it. The angel steps backwards and sits down on the steps of the pit as an image of another winged female, this one in golden armor, forms from the chaos, fighting desperately against an engorged Cho'Gath. It looks like the Void creature is winning as it closes its jaws on the bright angel's arm, but as it bites down the female shouts and plunges her shining sword through its skull.

The voice of the announcer joins with the tumult of the others in the room—Cho'gath has been slain!

"Damn!" Morgana hisses. "First Ryze getting the official copy of Barrier all to himself, and now Kayle's winning—"

He looks away from her, aware that he's been distracting from his goal. He looks around, trying to find one of the crystals that's not in use.

"Followed me, hmmm?" Evelynn whispers and he feels her claws tap on his breastplate. He jumps and looks down, watching her smile widely and show her fangs.

"Yes," he says simply. "I require your assistance, but not at this time. I am here for a more important purpose."

"Oh? What's the doggy sniffing after?" she cackles, a nail pinging as she runs a finger up to the great emerald in the center of his armor. He bats her hand away with a growl, his other hand tightening around the sandstone disc. The mist trapped between the scarab's jaws writhes impatiently.

"I seek to observe the Lady Crownguard's match," he answers her stiffly.

"Lady—oh, she's no lady," Evelynn murmurs, a wicked light in her eyes. She slides her hand into his, and his fur stands on end at the sensation of _wrongness_ that emanates from her as her blue skin touches him. "What's your interest in her, pup?"

"I think the pup in this conversation would be you, demon," he says mildly. "I have seen mountains fall into dust and rise from the sands of the Eternal Empire."

"Well aren't you impressive," she hisses. "I suppose you'll also follow with how you've never lost a match and how you have a whole harem of beast-women at your beck and call. Mmmm, I wonder if the big dog gets a little cougar on the side…"

He bares his teeth at her and snarls, "I am not infallible, and I've no mate in this world or any other—"

"There was one, I see," she chuckles, almost absentmindedly. He suddenly realizes her claws are digging into his palm, and thin streams of his immortal blood are dripping into her hand. "A black-feathered bird with cunning eyes. Looks pretty."

"T'sa," he gasps, a shock of pain running through him. The demon on his arm smiles with delight.

"Delicious," she croons, "but have no fear, Curator. I'm turning over a new leaf, you see. I'll be happy to help you."

She pulls on his hand he follows her blindly, lost in agonized thought. T'sa, beautiful T'sa…ah, he should have never returned to the empty hallways of his library, to be caught by cruel spells and torn forever from his home—

Then he sees her, bright, lovely, shining golden, perfect and eternal as the sun, smiling and shouting as light explodes from her wand and a blue blur leaps past her, hurling an orb of shining energy into the thick of the team fight. Ahri returns to her with another flash of spirit energy and the two smile at each other as the slightly awed voice of the announcer booms—Aced!

"They're a very good team," Evelynn comments almost gently. "Ahri has 26 kills, and Lux has 12. She's been feeding her kills the whole game. An excellent team player, your Lady."

"She is no one's Lady," he says, watching quietly as he runs the sandstone disk over his claws. "She is unique and belongs to herself alone."

"Perhaps," the Widowmaker croons. "Ah, look, they've surrendered. An excellent win for those two. Their summoners for this game are _close_, I've heard—you've seen Ilarin? He's rather intimate with Miss Eyowyn—"

"Eyowyn?" he says, distracted from watching the afternoon sunlight glitter on Lux's hair as she shakes hands with her enemies. He's been summoned by her quite a few times, always to control the top lane. She seems a nice enough female, for a summoner.

"Yes, she's Ahri's summoner in this match," Evelynn murmurs. "She rather likes to choose me as well."

"Hmph," Nasus growls. He would have thought Eyowyn had better taste. With a push of his finger, he knocks in the glass between the scarab's jaws, and shivers slightly as the mist rushes over him, cleansing dirt and sweat from his fur and polishing his armor to a mirror-bright shine. As soon as it returns, he dismisses the trinket back to the Deserts Between.

With a flash of blue light, the crystal goes dark and sinks back into its socket. Sharp pops of magic announce the arrival of the recently battling champions, and Nasus immediately looks for the pale tails of Ahri.

"Widowmaker," Nasus growls, seeing a flash of white fur, "I must ask you a favor—you and Ahri."

"A favor? Interesting, interesting," she replies, her eyes sparkling. "Sounds like fun...maybe even painful fun. That's the best kind."

He smiles at her gratefully, and pushes through the crowd. Ahri's dark clothes are soaked to her body in a way that leaves many of the humans around her staring. She is blowing kisses at her admirers when he shoulders his way to the front.

"Fox-woman," he says, as she looks up at him in coy surprise, "can you take myself and the Widowmaker to your chambers?"

At this she chokes in surprise, and Evelynn clasps her hands together, her lips pulling back over her teeth.

"Oh, fun indeed!" she coos over the shocked silence that now surrounds them.

Nasus looks around, puzzled. Was it something he said?

"Of…of course," Ahri says, staring at him in a way he thinks appears disturbingly hungry. "It would be a pleasure."

He follows the fox-woman, wondering why she keeps looking over her shoulder at him. He doesn't see Lux. He wishes he could. She makes so much more sense than these females, with their looks and their truly uncomfortable touching. Why must everyone feel the need to touch him all the time? Lux, Karma, Evelynn, Ahri…

He shakes his head in bewilderment and is ducking under the archway to exit the spectating rooms when he sees her. There's a huge male human towering over her, encased in a shell of gold and blue metal. Her little shoulders are hunched and one of his huge gauntleted hands is clamped around her wrist.

She tilts her head up to him and he turns and drags her along behind him, out another exit.

"We have to follow them," he says urgently, and the fox-woman and the demoness whip around in surprise.

"You continue to surprise me," Evelynn breathes. "You wanted _reconnaissance_?"

"Oh," Ahri says sadly.

"It's difficult for me to explain swiftly, but in brief: I believe Lux has some form of mental malady afflicting her that is causing her difficulty in her matches," he says urgently, loping to the corner and peering around it. Evelynn, with a brief, disbelieving shake of her head, vanished with a wink of her painted eyes and he smelled her scent as it moved up to him.

"They're going to the Demacian wing. You might be rather noticeable, big fellow," she whispers silkily as Ahri slinks up behind them, her tails drooping slightly.

"Not doggy?" he asks, smiling slightly even as he looks after Lux with worry. The big human looks like he is hurting her.

Evelynn huffs, the air puffing against his fur.

He growls under his breath."Who is he?" he asks the two females.

"Garen," Ahri says instantly, a brief, knowing smirk passing across her face. "Very stoic. _Disciplined._ A paragon of Demacia."

Evelynn laughs and he grimaces in confusion before setting it aside for another time.

"I must protect her," he says firmly. "I worry for her safety."

"They're going to see you!" Evelynn hisses. "I can slip into the shadows and follow them, but it must be me alone!"

"Can you extend your stealth to cover all of us?" Ahri asks.

"I'd need quite the power source," the invisible female snarls.

"_Echa_," he growls, and his staff comes eagerly out to meet him. "Fox-woman, hold on to the tip. Demoness, take the head. Use my strength to power your veil."

"Oh that sounds naughty," the she-devil cackles, but he feels her hands latch on to the carved jade head. Ahri, a little hesitantly, takes hold of the wickedly sharp bottom. There is a rushing feeling, like slimy dark water crawling over him, and he can no longer see his hands.

"Go!" Evelynn hisses. "I'll muffle our noises, but I can't hold it for long (oh what I do to brighten up an afternoon)—"

"Thank you," he whispers.

"Don't flatter yourself, doggy," she snaps. "I'm doing this for my own entertainment—the moment I decide it bores me, I will be gone."

"And you, fox?" he asks, accepting this with a nod.

He feels the cautious brush of Ahri's tail against his forearm.

"I was going to invite you to my room, anyways—if this will get you there faster, so be it," she says throatily, twining it slightly around him. He shakes her off with a shudder.

They run forwards, holding tightly to his staff, as Garen pulls Lux into the beginning of the Demacian wing.


	11. Final Spark Part Two

_**And without further ado, part two—the longest chapter yet. I hope you enjoy—and shoot me a review if you can!**_

Chapter 10: Final Spark

Part Two

After an undignified, near-fall caused by tripping over one of Ahri's tails, the three slow to a cautious crawl, creeping along only quickly enough to stay in sight of Lux and Garen. The doors of the Demacian champions loom on each side of the hall, simple wood with each champion's named inscribed in golden runes on the center. Through the cracks underneath, he sees and hears hints of the personalities of the champions within: hot, smoky forge light under Poppy's door, the gentle lilt of accented music mixed with the song of clashing steel from Fiora, and the scrape of stone on spear within the Seneschal's chambers.

Fiora? So, that was the name of that Demacian bladeswoman. Totally incomprehensible. Did she have a speech impediment, he wonders.

Garen is dragging Lux towards a bigger door, more elaborate than those around it, and he can see the gold dragon-prince waiting outside. The man's face is narrow and hostile when it falls on the Lady of Luminosity and he feels a great surge of worry. At his side is the dragon-woman herself, grinding her teeth together, hot fire dripping from her fingers in little flashes and spurts. Behind them, standing so still that Nasus almost mistakes him for part of the wall, is a statue with eyes, peering watchfully down the hallway.

"Damn it," Evelynn hisses. "It's Galio. He's the perfect guard—his eyes can pierce through any deception. We can't get any closer."

"I can take care of him," Ahri says confidently. "Just wait until the others go inside, and let me do my work."

"It's a _tekepi_," he growls, perplexed. "_Tekepi_ have no emotions, little fox."

"No one can resist me, Curator," she purrs. "Man, woman, child, or beast—the power of my charm is greater than them all."

"I can," he says simply, feeling her tails brush against his wrist again. "I am beyond such things."

The fox-woman huffs an angry puff of air. "That may be true," she says snippily, "but you're not so hard-hearted as you think you are."

"I am a protector," he says, feeling the words as they resonate in the magically-silenced air. "Even you are not beyond protection, but the guardian must be free from all imperfection, lest an opening appear in his guard—and what I guarded on my homeworld was more dangerous than anything your planet has ever experienced. Never did I falter—even against the flesh of my flesh."

"He's pretty stupid, isn't he?" the fox-woman asks Evelynn, and he feels the flush of pride and duty in his chest evaporate.

"Yup," the demon agrees, "the self-righteous ones usually are. Listen, Curator, yes, you're noble, but as you may not have noticed, those Demacians are starting to move."

Nasus feels almost sulky as he strains his ears towards the conversation at the end of the hall.

"Good, you brought her," the dragon-woman hisses, leaning eagerly towards Lux, whose blonde head is drooping. "I'm ready to _burn_."

"No, none of that," the prince says, placing a comforting hand on her grey-blue arm. "Not yet, at least," he adds, directing a hard glare at the Lady of Luminosity.

He snarls in his own mind, some of the darker scrolls in his library leaping to his thoughts—spells of quicksand and tearing winds. They will **not** hurt her.

"I volunteered for a match against Noxus," Lux says bitterly, "what's so wrong with that?"

"You know you should not do such a thing," Garen says sternly, looking down on her. "I see how it pains you whenever you aid another city-state."

"Who knows what could have been happening to those prisoners!" she shouts and in a moment there is a huge, searing flash of light. Nasus tries to leap into action, but the infinitely faster Evelynn tackles him into the wall.

"No!" she hisses. "Wait until the last moment to break our cover!"

"I am no spy," he grunts, but stills, letting the cool stone calm him as he blinks the spots from his eyes.

"Get your hands off me," Lux hisses, now standing with her baton shoved into Garen's throat, the ends shining dangerously. The dragon-woman is snarling, rubbing her eyes and shaking her head, and the prince's brow is furrowed.

Brave, he thinks.

Slowly, the big male releases her arm, and she takes a step back.

"I'll listen, my lord, but I'm no criminal, nor a traitor," she says. "I'm an honored agent of the intelligence services, I've served loyally for years, I've helped Demacia in the League, and I don't deserve to be dragged through the halls like a prisoner going to interrogation!"

"You don't want to be part of my lord's plans," the dragon-woman hisses at her. "I can smell your fear, your distaste. You don't want to do what must be done for the glory of Demacia."

"I'm not a slave, or a little girl," she retorts. "I'm a Champion. And I will make my own choices."

"You will enter this room and listen to what I have to say, and if I want you to help us, you will do so," the prince says, and his voice reverberates with certainty. "Your mind is bound to the Measured Tread and you _will_ obey me!"

"Victory for our allies, defeat for our enemies, and justice for all," Lux whispers, her little face pinched in pain, and her shoulders droop. "Yes, my lord. I will hear you."

"Let's go, then. Who knows how safe the Institute is anymore," the dragon-woman hisses.

"Indeed," Garen says, looking over his shoulder. Nasus freezes, holding his breath, and he realizes that he hears Evelynn laughing ever so softly.

"Oh, down what merry paths shall this lead me!" she chuckles. "And oh, shall I drink in the suffering of these hard-minded fools!"

Ahri's teeth grind together. "I do not like the way they are treating her."

"You?" Nasus asks, confused at the way the fox-woman's tails are twitching.

"She's a friend, and I have few friends," she says shortly. "Miss Eyowyn introduced me to her when I first came to this place and she was kind to me."

"Do you still want to pursue this?" Evelynn asks, pricking him with her sharp claws. He watches Lux walk through the door, and closes his eyes as Garen shuts it behind the Demacians.

"Fear is the invention of mortals," he growls. "My duty is sacred. I may be without my library, but I still have charges to care for."

He thinks Ahri sighs, "You can read me like one of your books any time," but dismisses it as being totally implausible.

The moment the door clicks closed, the two women launch into action. He grips tightly to his staff as Evelynn pulls him behind a pillar and pushes him into the shadows. With a flash of spirit energy, Ahri lets go of the staff and appears, with a burst of blue fire, in front of Galio.

"Nine-Tailed Fox, you must leave this area at once," he says in his slow, stone voice. His heavy wings unfold with a great grinding of rock.

"I think not," she says, leaning forwards, and he notices with surprise that it seems that there has been some injury to her clothing.

She looks rather…squishy. It's a little repulsive. Politely, he tries to control the grimace on his face.

"Oh," Galio sighs, and the sigh is oddly breathless for a noise that sounds like two rocks crunching together.

"Ugh," Evelynn hisses, "she better keep all that love magic on that side of the hall. I don't want to end up randomly groping you while I've got Demacians to eavesdrop on."  
"Oh dear," he says, rather shocked. "That would not be appropriate."

"Don't want you getting all big and hard too quick," she says with a wicked chuckle, "got to save that for the team fights, you know."

He chokes a little in the corner.

"Oh, relax," she mutters. "You have no sense of humor!"

He attempts to ignore her snickering, but watching Ahri lean forwards and place her pale hand on the gargoyle's stone cheek is almost as bad. Galio leans forwards, the light in his eyes dimming slightly.

"I—a guardian is always prepared," he says slowly. "Nine-Tailed Fox, my post—"

"Forget it," she whispers silkily.

"By your command," he rumbles, and his clawed hands close gently around her back as Ahri leans in and kisses his stone mouth, presses herself against him as if he is a wellspring in the desert, and…

Covers his eyes with her hands.

"Go!" Evelynn hisses, and they run towards the door. Nasus spares Ahri a glance as they run by, gagging a little as her tails twine themselves around the gargoyle's body.

He wonders if he should be ashamed in using this woman in such a way, but he notices little wisps of essence drifting from Galio and into the orb hovering behind her head and decides that she's really not making that much of a sacrifice.

As they reach the door Evelynn shoves her claws into the lock, and with a surge of magic it pops open. The little click it makes is expertly masked by the fox-woman's gasp of pleasure (which makes him want to cover his face and hide) and the demon quickly presses her ear against it.

"They're in another room," she hisses, and eases it open with her shoulder. "Ahri!" she calls in a strained whisper. "We're done here, let's go!"

In an instant the fox-woman draws back and cracks Galio across the face with a glowing fist. Before his jaw can finish falling open in shock, she flashes to their side in blue flame, disappears as she desperately flails around and manages to grab the invisible staff, and they hurry inside as the door slams shut.

Galio, totally blindsided, rubs his jaw and looks around.

"What just happened?" he asks of no one in particular.

No one in particular remains unsympathetically silent.

The dragon-prince's room is rich in dark wood and great tapestries in bright colors of red and gold. There is an air of luxury about it, a heavy smell of arrogance, which makes Nasus grind his teeth together.

"Where are they?" he barks, trying desperately to forget what he just saw the woman at now panting at his side do.

"In there," Evelynn murmurs, gesturing down a brief hallway. After a brief period of fumbling around with the staff, they managed to reach end of this corridor, which opens into a large hall with a firepit in the center. The dragon-woman is lounging on top of the coals, watching Lux with hateful, jealous eyes.

His _nek'asha'mei _is kneeling before a throne set by the coals, in front of her brother. Her hands are clenched, white knuckled, around her baton.

"Shyvanna and Jarvan, what an odd couple," Ahri says under her breath.

"This coming from a woman that just licked the face of a statue," Nasus grumbles.

"We all have our preferences," Evelynn says diplomatically. "Shush."

"As I informed you earlier," the dragon-prince begins, "progress into finding the proper site for the portal is going extremely well. Our contact assures us that he has found the precise location in the ruins and that he is beginning to re-awaken the old spell his people used to flee to our world."

"It must have been thousands of years ago—even before the first Rune Wars," Garen says solemnly. "How can we trust that it can be reactivated?"

"I don't trust him," Shyvanna hisses. "He wants the Library for himself. You know he does, my lord."

"I honor my pledges," the dragon-prince says sternly. "If he does not betray us, he will have the spells that he desires."

He can barely breathe. The Library. A portal. Do they…can they mean…

"In any case," Jarvan continues, "he needs either the Curator's staff or the Butcher's glaive to fully open it. That is where you come in, Miss Crownguard."

Blind fury, so hot and thick he can taste it like blood, rising up in his mouth, fills him to the brim. Human scum, worthless, pathetic mortals, who he gave so much of his life to guard, and still he could not find even one who could be trusted. He thought she was different…

"I won't do it," she spits, and she looks up, right at where he is standing, and he cannot look away from her eyes.

Blue like the desert sky.

"I know it will be difficult," Garen murmurs encouragingly, "but you're the best of the best, my sister."

"The crown understands that it will take great time and effort to accomplish, Miss Crownguard," Jarvan tells her, "but it will be done. You have two months, and I will accept no excuses."

Her eyes shine with liquid, and for a moment he thinks of how wasteful it is that tears are. A brief flash of desert-born contempt, then it is submerged below the emotions burning, tossing and turning, inside him.

"As you command, my lord," she says hoarsely, and the dragon-prince gives a triumphant smile.

"Very good, Miss Crownguard. I will forget today's lapse in discipline—see that it does not happen again. And no more helping the Ionians—we want them and Noxus to be as close to each other's throats as possible while Demacia devotes herself to this task. When we have the Library, then there will be no need to let that island stay independent any longer," Jarvan says. "You are dismissed."

He can hear Evelynn and Ahri on either side of him, barely breathing, as Lux and Garen bow their heads and exit the room.

"So much pain," Evelynn purrs joyously, "oh, that feels _good_."

"Lux," Ahri murmurs, and he hears real sorrow in the fox-woman's voice.

"We must leave this place," he growls, "before I kill this man before me, and damn all consequences."

He watches the dragon-prince reach out a hand to his lover amidst the flames as Evelynn takes them quickly, quietly out, and he understands his brother's urge to kill.

Ahri flings a handful of foxfires out the door, and while Galio scrambles to put them out they run out of his sight, down the rest of the Demacian corridor and back into the main hall of the Institute, where Evelynn finally drops her stealth spell.

"That was exhausting," she moans.

"Thank you," he tells her, and he gently touches her blue cheek. The demon's eyes go wide with surprise as he moves his hand down and pats her spiky shoulder.

"Well…I…" she stammers, and winks back out of sight as soon as Nasus draws his hand back, smiling a little.

"What, I don't get anything?" Ahri complains, flouncing. He wrinkles his nose at all the flopping her chest is doing, but there is a real sense of gratitude inside him towards these two monstrous females.

"You have been a great help to me, Ahri," he murmurs, "and I thank you as well. Your aid was most…unexpected."

"You'll need more of it before long," she says, her fox eyes narrowing. "I don't like the sound of what they're planning."

"Then I will call on you the day after the ball, Lady Nine Tails," he says gravely, "and Miss Evelynn as well, if she will come."

She nods sharply, her orb spinning around her, and raises a hand in farewell before she moves off across the hall, her face softening into a beguiling smile the moment she turns. He smiles after her, but then his face goes hard.

Out of the corner of his eye, he notices a flash of gold and feels a heavy weight settle over him as Lux saunters into view, grinning brilliantly as usual—startlingly than he had seen her only moments before.

"Lux," he calls, reaching her in a few strides. She looks up at him, those tiny white teeth shining, and he hesitates.

"Would you like to accompany me to the Champion's Ball?" he asks.

Her eyes widen and he shifts uncomfortably.

"Yes, I would," she says quietly, a little of the blood returning to her pale cheeks. Without thinking, as he should have, he reaches out and touches them with a single finger, feeling the warmth of her blood under her skin as she stiffens in surprise.

"Good. We have much to talk about," he says quietly, and leaves her without another word.


	12. The Fury of the Sands

**I played Shyv a couple of times this week and you are right, Waffle…she is a bit of a wild child. Still, I'm going to go with evil!Shyv and blame it on her now fanatical devotion to the man who saved her.**

**J4, man, you so bad.**

**Anyways, here's the final chapter of Part 1. This one's coming in at right around 4000 words, the longest yet. I wonder if it is just that as I keep writing this story, I enjoy it more and more and just want to keep writing it! I even included a bit of music, and hopefully I fooled the fanfiction net website censors well enough. Just put in periods where it says dot, and a / where it says slash. The parentheses on each side should also be removed.**

**If that doesn't work, then the song is Twisted Air by Plentakill. I wanted to use Illusionist by Plentakill, but this is a little more romantic (as its a Love Story parody).**

**There be romance ahead…romance so far from even being T rated that it's laughable.**

**BUT I LOVE IT ANYWAYS!**

**Read on and let me know what you think :D  
**

Chapter 11: The Fury of the Sands

It is a long, anxious wait for the Champion's Ball. He fights in several more matches as the days pass, and there is an incredibly unpleasant one where Shyvanna is the jungler for his team.

He does not understand her.

She seems too savage, too wild for the straight-laced Demacians, but there is a fire in her brighter than that which comes from her hands for her lord, the golden dragon-prince. What was his name? Jarvan?

He bares his teeth in a silent snarl. Yes, Jarvan. He will remember him.

"Curator Nas-us-are you confused? Should-the Proph-et-and I-explain it-to you-again?"

He shakes his head and turns back to the little dancing _tekepi _who is smiling up at him to joyfully. Her bronze hair is curled into sharp, perfect points, and she covers her plated metal skin with spinning gears at her waist. He doesn't…exactly see what Malzahar likes about her, and even this is an understatement. However, she seems kind enough, a _tekepi_ made in the shape of a sweet young female human, as he is told. A pity that she is not alive, he thinks, looking at her hopping from one delicate foot to another, her arms twisting the great key behind her back. She is more decent than most humans that he is met.

"No, thank you Orianna," he says politely, wincing a little as the ball zooms around his body, adjusting the clothes the _tekepi_ has selected for him with brief blasts of electricity. He would turn his body to stone, but he somehow doubts that it would stop the relentlessly chirping metal sphere.

Malzahar tilts his cowled head curiously as Orianna bounces around him, her wickedly sharp fingers snipping thread and sewing it back up in seconds.

"Ver-y good!" she sings, stepping back and cocking her mechanical head from side to side to examine him. "You-look-most-lovely-Curator Nas-us!"

"I trust your judgment, Clockwork Lady," he says, and she claps her hands together joyfully. The ball gives him a friendly nudge.

"You are-so kind-to-me and the Ball," she says, "the Ball-shall not-cook the flesh from your-bones!"

Malzahar chuckles, a deep, haunting sound, as Nasus, rather alarmed, snatches his staff out of the Deserts Between.

"That was-a joke," Orianna says, smiling at Malzahar. "See-the-Proph-et understands? Curator Nas-us does not-have-his-refined-sense-of-humor."

He growls softly and dismisses his staff. This is a strange creature.

"Here-Ball-will-show-you-how-you-look," she says, and waves her long mechanical fingers at her companion. The ball whirrs and darts in front of Nasus, its metal plates contorting until they form a large rectangle, in which he can see his reflection.

The _tekepi_ has dressed him in clothes of Shurima silk, tan-gold with hints of oasis blue and palm green. His skirt is composed of two bright triangles of gold with red edges, and a sigil in sapphire blue in the center that he described for Orianna to sew, a fantastic letter of lines and curves that in Nasus' language was a symbol of his goddess, Registrana. He wears a tunic with a triangle of brilliant blue fabric just under his throat. The rest is gold, and he wears the belt from his armor with it. It blends in nicely with the cloth, and with a thought he can summon the rest of his armor to join with it and cover him in protective enchantments. The great emerald in its center carries powerful wards against poison and magics of the mind, which should be enough to carry him safely through the night.

He leaves his head and hands bare of helmet or gauntlets, though he retains a gold circlet with another emerald that rests on his forehead—another precaution against beguiling spells.

He provided the _tekepi_ with the pieces of his own armor, but the rest she had somehow managed to conjure up—and sew—within the morning. He had brushed his fur and let the cleansing mist out of its glass as she was working, and he thinks, looking into the mirror, that he looks fine enough for this human contrivance of a ball.

Dressing up for a ball with the help of the Ball. Is that what humans call a pun?

He shrugs and gestures for the Ball to return to its normal shape. "Thank you, Orianna," he says graciously, "I look very suitable."

"Oh-it-was-our-pleasure-to-help-you-isn't-that-right-Ball?" she chirps joyfully, her skirt of gears whizzing around her body. The ball bobs in mid air, nudging her affectionately.

"Orianna," he says carefully, feeling a great pity come over him for the mechanical…girl, "do you have a home city?"

"Yes-our-home-is-in-Piltover-isn't-it-Ball?" she says, nodding in excitement. Malzahar, who has been watching her with a slightly dreamy expression in his soulless eyes, shifts within his robes so he is looking at Nasus. A voidling, peeping out of his hood, strains to lean out far enough to see and loses its grip, splattering on the floor in a puddle of purple goo.

"There is a chance that…something very bad could happen to your city, Clockwork Lady," he says sternly. "I would hate for such a thing to happen."

"We-wouldn't-let-anyone-do-that!" she snaps, and suddenly her voice goes cold. "_**Attack-ravage-pulse. I-know-what-makes-them-tick- I-know-how-to-make-the-ticking-**_**stop**."

"These invaders would use weapons from which this world has no defense," he warns her, occasionally glancing at Malzahar. The Prophet's hood is crowded with curious voidlings, little multi-eyed heads popping out on every side.

One of them crawls out of his sleeve, hissing in excitement at its own creativity.

"They could even destroy an invasion from the Void," he says, baring his teeth at the Prophet.

"I'm listening," Malzahar replies sourly.

"Tomorrow, come to the chambers of the Nine-Tailed Fox," he says. "I do not want to see these weapons given to the people of Runeterra to use as they see fit, Clockwork Lady. Such a thing would bring destruction on this wet world."

"We-go-with-Curator Nas-us," Orianna says, laying a spidery hand on the ball's surface. Sparks spit off it in all directions as it spins, suddenly malevolent.

"I am interested to hear more," Malzahar says, floating up to her and wrapping a protective arm around her twitching shoulders.

"I will see you tonight and tomorrow, then," he says gravely, then raises his hand in farewell. He makes his way out of Orianna's room, which is a bizarre three way mix between a dance studio, a hextech workshop, and a sewing room, with sharp edges and jagged struts of metal as the primary means of decoration. He steps carefully to avoid getting his new clothes torn.

Outside, in the Piltover wing, he thanks his dark fur that hides his blush when the woman with the giant gauntlets starts hooting like the monkey she resembles upon glimpsing him and starts pointing at him with huge fingers. Her partner, the Sheriff, covers her face with an elegant hand and drags her off.

He did not consider that he would look…ridiculous…to the humans. Is that what Lux will think when she sees him? Will she laugh at him?

He would not like it if she laughed.

He growls, drawing a shroud of sand around him, and strides through the halls cloaked in a furious sandstorm, rushing for the quiet sanctuary of his room.

He ends up pacing anxiously a scant quarter hour before the start of the festivities. He can hear _giggling_ outside his door, the gentle patter of human feet, the soft hum of musicians warming up in the dancing hall. But pounding over all that is his frightened heart.

He dreads the moment he has to tell Lux what he has overheard. He fears the terrible future if the Demacia prince succeeds and the secrets of his Library fall into mortal hands. He cannot think too long about the meeting in the foxwoman's room—the impossibility of Void and metal, Shadow Isle and Ionia, working together—of all the people he will need, Lux is the only true human being! And what a task they will have before them…

But most of all he waits to see the look on Lux's face when she first sees him. It should not matter—it does not, he insists to himself—but it causes him more unease when he thinks about it than all the terrible future that awaits him. While he waits for the appointed hour, he summons forth gold and jewels and works it with his magic into a circlet like the one he wears, but smaller, finer—a delicate piece for a tiny creature. Instead of an emerald, though, he places a sapphire in the center, one that is the same color as her lovely eyes.

He holds the piece delicately in his hands and sighs. It is time. He straightens his shoulders and opens the door.

The ballroom is exceptionally strange and incredibly lovely. The entrance hall of the Institute is a dusky whirl of gold and violet, the gentle blue stones covered in great billowing drapes that go from floor to ceiling. The ceiling itself is strew with tiny, sparkling gems that look like stars amidst the dusty shadows of the rafters. A band sits unobtrusively on the rising stairs to the Chamber of Judgment, and the lilting strains of violins and flutes sound almost ethereal.

He pauses at the entrance, watching the couples already inside dance inside the darkness. Orianna spins gracefully beside the Prophet, who watches her with a deep sorrow in his eyes as he catches her hand and dips her. The foxwoman is surrounded by a gaggle of admiring male champions, and he catches Jarvan staring at her before Shyvanna yanks angrily on his arm.

"Nasus?" a bright voice calls, and he turns to see Lux, just coming in the Great Corridor.

She…she—his mind, infinitely adaptable and filled with more knowledge than has passed through Runeterra in centuries, stutters. She is…wearing a dress, a dress the color of sand, that flows gracefully past her knees and over her shoulders. Her long hair is held back by a band of silver, studded with thick chunks of sandstone. A golden sash curls around her body and falls off at her hip, hanging loosely behind her.

He chokes a little and tries blinking, which has become moderately more difficult.

Lux appears…uncannily like he had imagined her, the golden-brown chunks of sandstone peeking through her hair like ears, the sash like a tail, the dress the exact color that it should be. Could she read minds? Wait, of course not, he had wards against that.

She looks exquisitely lovely. He did not think a human could look so beautiful to him, but dressed in this manner, her lovely face is suddenly glaringly obvious. A sweet human, he had thought, attractive perhaps to other humans but to him? No…no!

But now…

"Luxanna," he says softly, bending at the waist in a deep bow.

"I didn't think you ever got out of your armor," she quips, walking up to him and looking him up and down with a twinkle in her eye. He takes a deep, deep breath and tries to regain his old calm.

"I could make an exception for a lady," he growls. "It would be disrespectful otherwise."

"You look very nice. It's like your armor, but softer. Not so hard to get at," she says, glancing once at his belt and once at his forehead. "Mind shielding and poisons?" she inquires, almost absentmindedly.

"There's a bit of defense against magical and physical attacks in here," he rumbles, gesturing at the sigil of Registrana on his skirt. She looks, purses her lips as she traces her eyes over the intricate curves, then stops with a jerk and a rush of blood to her cheeks.

It is no mercy that he understands humans enough to understand what he's done.

"Sorry, sorry!" he says quickly, reaching out to quickly try and tilt her chin back up to his face.

"Looks very nice," she mumbles, almost as red as the border.

"I—I am impressed by your knowledge of, uh, of magical defenses, Lady Luxanna," he stammers hastily. He has perfect control over the pressure he exerts with his claws on her skin, so he is surprises by her quiet intake of breath when he gently pushes her head up to look at him.

"I'm very well read," she says quickly, then gives him one of her breathtaking smiles.

"Not as well as I?" he guesses, and chuckles at her smirk.

"No, maybe not," she says, pushing her lips out a little, a gesture that leaves him rather worried that her mouth is about to detach from her face. Fortunately, it's just another facial expression.

"Shall we?" he asks hesitantly, and offers her his hand. She slides her little fingers in with his long ones without any sort of pause, pressing her palm against his furry one. He can feel her energy, bright and dancing under her pale, vulnerable skin, and puts his other hand over hers with a sudden rush of protective feeling, hiding it completely from view.

"I made you something, Lux," he growls. "I worry for your safety, what with how small you are and your soft human flesh, and this should protect you better than the flimsy metal of Demacian armorers."

Quickly, he withdraws his hand and plucks the circlet out of the Deserts Between, missing the brief flash of surprised pleasure on her face.

"Here, here," he mutters hastily, and she looks him in the eye as she takes from his hand and slides it onto her brow, below the sandstone band. She smiles gratefully, a little crinkle at the corners of her eyes, and he can feel her perpetual aura of happiness sharpen perceptibly.

"It's beautiful, thank you Nasus," she says, and he reaches up and adjusts it slightly, his claws pressing gently into her skin and tucking away her hair.

"It is nothing," he growls, his fingers lingering slightly in her hair as he marvels at the strange feeling of the strands brushing against his hand. Then he withdraws, feeling suddenly huge and clumsy compared to her, and she laughs.

"Don't worry so much," she says, and tugs him after her into the ballroom. The force she exerts is infinitesimally small compared to the strength in his arms, but it amuses him to let her pull him about in such a way. The music changes to something sweet and slightly wistful as Lux finally reaches an empty spot on the floor.

_ .com(slash)watch?v=WW7IXj8eBI4_

She reaches up to him, and manages, with a bit of difficulty, to wrap her tiny hands around the back of his neck, where her touch makes his skin tingle unmercifully.

"Wait," he says, waving his hands about frantically, "what do I do?"

"You have to put your hands on my waist, Nasus," she says, smirking, "and then we kind of sway back and forth as they play the song."

"Is this really necessary?" he growls, but after looking at the teasing light in Lux's eyes, he puts his hands as far above her hips as they can go without going over her arms. She raises an eyebrow and reluctantly he lets them drop an inch or two.

"Poor Curator," she says. "Didn't they have anything like this on your world?"

"Well, yes—dance is a universal trait among sentient species, well documented in the Library," he says, feeling a little better as the conversation moves into more comfortable grounds. "My kind tends to not have organized festivities of this sort. The priestesses of Registrana dance as part of Her ceremonies, and there are certain sects such as the waterfinders and the weather-keepers who practice a sort of martial art that involves dance used to incredibly deadly effect. Those are mostly ones of my kind who have reptile, avian, or feline aspects. The wolf aspect, sometimes called the hound aspect, tends not to be so…frivolous," he ends with a bit of a sniff.

"Sounds fun," she says cheerfully. "I like dancing."

He huffs and glares at her. Once again, missing the point entirely.

"Who's Registrana?" she asks innocently, batting her eyelashes at him. He finds this action immensely distracting. Those tiny little blond hairs, falling over her eyes like sand cast into the wind…

"Hmm, She is not to spoken of lightly, little human," he growls, watching her blink and stick her tongue out at him.

"I'm curious!" she protests.

"Well," he says, shifting his weight from foot to foot as she does, making the little swaying motions she seems to think he should be, "Registrana applauds your curiosity, as She is the patron of all seekers of knowledge, but such things should not be shared in a public place."

Lux frowns, but nonetheless leans her head against his chest. The very top of her hair touches his chin when he looks down at her.

"Is this also the custom?" he growls.

"It's nice," she says simply.

It is, indeed, but that part of him is being terribly confusing at the moment. He wraps his arms a little more snugly around her and closes his eyes for a few seconds. She is small but very soft and he sighs regretfully before he gently pushes on her shoulders to adjust her back to her previous position.

She is not his kind. Charming she may be, intelligent and curious, brave even, but he will not confuse fondness for anything more.

Lux smiles at him, but her eyes are a little sad. He wonders what he has done to hurt her. Surely she must feel the same way?

He pats the top of her head with one of his hands, sliding his claws through her hair down to her shoulder, wondering again at how odd it feels.

"Do not sorrow, _nek'asha'mei_," he says quietly, watching the little light appear above her head, conjured by his name for her. "All is well."

"You don't know the half of it, Nasus," she says, her mouth twisting.

"Perhaps I do," he growls. "Can we dance over to that corner, perhaps? I think a friend would like to help us talk in private."

He gestures with a tilt of his head at the shadows on the left side of the stairs up to the Judgment Chamber. Within, there is a slight disturbance in the air before he sees Evelynn's spiked heels emerge from the darkness.

Lux nods, looking slightly puzzled, and they move quietly through the crowd. As they approach the demon, she gives Nasus a knowing nod, and seconds both he and Lux vanish from sight.

"What—"Lux squeaks, and Nasus feels Evelynn's sharp nails prick him lightly on the back of his neck as she moves to rejoin the crowd.

"There is nothing to fear," he growls. "The Widowmaker has put us out of sight and hearing of the others here, so we may talk in private."

"Talk about what?" she demands without a quiver. Although he can no longer see her, he can certainly feel her hands dart away from his head and the cold head of her baton press against his chest.

"Your lord's plans for my people and my world," he snarls, and she abruptly stills as he tightens his hands around her back.

"Ah," she says sadly, and he flinches as the end of the baton suddenly starts to warm.

"No, my Lady, no need for that," he says, amused. "I don't think you are my enemy."

"Well, what are you dragging me off for, then? Just going to hand your staff over? Because there's nothing else that's going to satisfy him, and I'm not going into Renekton's cell for any amount of _pride_ in my country," she spits venomously.

"I am here to offer you my help, Lux," he growls earnestly, feeling cautiously down her arms until he can grasp her hands. "No Demacian will ever set eyes upon the secrets in my Library, nor will your golden dragon-prince be allowed to loose his armies upon the Endless Empire, but you need not suffer for their failure."

"It won't just be Demacia," she whispers grimly. "How long will it take before Talon hears about this? Or the Kinkou? Or Kha'zix, or your apparent bosom-companion Evelynn, may the gods forbid it!"

" Evelynn is…a strange one," he rumbles, "but she has aided me and I will keep my trust with her until I know I should keep it elsewhere. For the others, we could stop them all as long as we keep them from opening a portal—and even if that fails, though Registrana turn aside that path, I can return the same way to protect my Library. There are others who I think will help us, for the sake of the balance of power. Trust me, _nek'asha'mei._"

"I do trust you, Nasus," Lux says softly.

"Then the rest will come in time," he growls, "for am I not the Curator of the Sands?"

He squeezes her hands gently, hoping his claws will not scratch her arms.

"You know the Nine-Tailed Fox closely, do you not?"

"Ahri…yes, I do, although she's creepy, like I told you in the garden," Lux replies, sounding slightly puzzled. "What does this have to do with—"

"Come to her chambers tomorrow and see who I have gathered to stop this coming danger," he growls. "Do this and you will be safe, for the gift I have given you should protect you from any daggers in the night, if not from poison tongues."

"Easy enough," she breathes, "are we done here, then?"

"Yes, Lux," he says. "Should I escort you back to your room?"

"No," she murmurs and he blinks. "I think that this time is for dancing, Nasus. I don't see a lot of it in the future, so why leave early?"

"Wise," he growls, chuckling slightly and leading her back to the light. As Nasus steps carefully over the pirate-woman, who has crashed to the floor, giggling, his body returns to visibility, as does Lux's.

"Is the party still on?" he hears Evelynn whisper, soft and close to his ear. He glances around, but sees nothing.

"Yes," he says, barely moving his mouth, and he hears the demon's answering chuckle.

"Good. I'd hate to miss out on all the turmoil," she teases, then all is quiet.

He turns to look at Lux, at her beautiful eyes and her priestess' dress and tail-like sash and sandstone crown, and prays that she will be safe, this last worthy female on Runeterra.

Though, he supposes such a title is unkind, considering gentle Karma and the other Ionians. Well then, the only decent female who has shared his lane in a League match.

Suddenly, he remembers Malzahar's book and smiles.

"Shall we dance, my lovely Lux?" he growls, and slips his arms back around her as she blushes and hides her face with her golden hair.

**END OF PART 1: THE INSTITUTE**


	13. BONUS CHAPTER: T'sa's Champion Concept

Bonus Chapter: T'sa's Champion Concept

T'sa, the High Priestess of Registrana

Anti-mage AP carry, Anti-mage support

500 range

Passive: Cloak of Feathers

T'sa's feathers protect her from injury from rival priestesses, reflecting 10/12/14/16/18/20% of all magic damage that she takes (this adds to the percentage of magic damage reduced by magic resistance).

Sacred Talons: T'sa claws at her enemies with divine energy, shooting a pair of mystical talons in the direction of the cursor. These talons have their cooldown reduced and do extra damage to enemies in the area of effect of Quicksand and those who are Drenched.

Oasis of Life: T'sa drenches herself and her surroundings in the waters of the Oasis of Life, removing one debuff from all of her allies in the area of effect, as well as from herself. The waters linger on T'sa, healing her for a scaling amount dependent on her AP over several seconds. Higher ranks heal the amount over a shorter period of time. All enemy champions in the area of effect gain the Drenched debuff for 3 seconds, making them take extra damage from Sacred Talons.

Quicksand: T'sa calls upon the sands of the Deserts Between, changing the earth into a quicksand pit that pulls champions caught in it towards the center over 2 seconds and interrupting spells with cast times. If at the end of the spell the champion is still in the area of effect the pit collapses, forcing the champion into the center of the effect, stunning them for .5 seconds, and dealing damage scaling off of T'sa's AP.

Registrana's Mercy: T'sa commends her enemies to the mercy of her goddess, dealing high scaling magic damage over 10 seconds to all enemies caught in the area of effect as their bodies are turned into sand, slightly reducing their physical damage done as well as their armor. Should more than two enemies be in the area of effect, Registrana unleashes her wrath against the non-believers, causing the spell to further decrease physical damage done and armor as well as applying a 10%/20%/30% slow and dealing additional damage equal to 1%/2%/3% of their maximum health every second.

Physical Appearance: T'sa is a large, raven-headed humanoid like Nasus and Renekton. Her feathers are light blue on her face, darkening as they go down her body, and she wears a breastplate of black metal outlined with diamonds and with sigils drawn on it in sapphires, as well as a skirt of dark cloth. She wears black metal sandals that show her talons, and a veil with tiny diamonds in it over her head and beak from a golden circlet on her head in the form of a king cobra. She wears bracers and greaves of the same black metal as her breastplate, and the talons on her hands extend from black silk gloves. T'sa throws steel feathers as her basic attack. Upon death, she cries out and extends her hands towards the sky, then dissolves into sand.

Lore:

T'sa is one of the race of animalistic creatures that Renekton and Nasus belong to, and was close to both brothers in their time on that world. She leads the temple to Registrana, the Cobra Goddess that is the head of those creatures' pantheon. Once, eons ago, she was the tentative mate of ever-cautious Nasus, but he gave her up to become the Curator of the Great Library that contains all the knowledge of his world. In the time since then, she has risen through the ranks of the priesthood to become the High Priestess of Registrana, a position heralded beyond all others…and fraught with peril.

After surviving multiple assassination attempts, T'sa attempted to contact Nasus to ask for his protection, but found, to her horror, that the Curator was missing…as was his brother, Renekton. Praying alone to her goddess, she was granted a vision of a land torn by war and by destructive magics—the land of Runeterra. There, the goddess promised, she would find Nasus and Renekton, but this time, it would be they who needed her protection.

The next day, T'sa donned the ceremonial armor in Registrana's inner shrine and appointed her second to hold her position until she returned. She used her divine magic to break through the wards of the Library and find a spell that would take her to another world. When she activated it she found herself in the ruins of a great city in the midst of an endless desert where she could no longer hear the comforting hiss of her goddess. Determined nonetheless, she set out to cross the Shurima desert to find the two brothers and bring them back to where they belonged.

Upon arrival at the Institute, T'sa greeted the humans there peaceably, seeing them as the same as the subservient race of humans on her homeworld. However, upon being shown the imprisoned Renekton, she flew into a rage and attempted to free him, killing all those around her with her talons. Only Nasus was able to approach her and calm her, and once he had explained the situation, T'sa agreed to stay and join the League. Ostensibly, this was because of her desire to protect the people of Runeterra, like Nasus. However, T'sa had made a deeper pact with the Summoners. They were to find her a way back to her world, and when they did, to send both Nasus and Renekton back with her. For despite all that she has seen since then of the Butcher of the Sands, she cannot think of him as an enemy, and desires above all else to save him from his captivity.

"There is no fury like that of a woman scorned. That applies to the females of my kind, as well."

-Nasus, Curator of the Sands

Upon Selection: I will return, mortal. Until then…our enemies shall feel the fury of the Goddess.


	14. Part Two: The Desert--Introduction

**PART TWO: THE DESERT**  
Introduction

_The scales of Great Serpent rasp as she coils, her long tongue flicking past her slender lips, around T'sa's feet._

_"Hear me, priestessss," she croons, resting her heavy head on the raven woman's shoulder. T'sa takes deep breaths, her dark eyes twinkling behind her veil._

_"Registrana, I hear you," the priestess says softly._

_"The vault—sssomeone has tressspasssed on your watch!" she hisses violently, her heavy fangs snapping down by T'sa's ear. She flinches slightly but calms as she feels the lapis rush through her bones, steadying her against further shock. It is a steady cold inside her flesh and feathers._

_"Infinite mistress, this is not possible," T'sa chirps firmly. "No human would be able to pass the priestess-guards, and even great Nasus"—this she says with a slight draw of breath—"could not penetrate the powers of your wards."_

_"Truth," Registrana snarls, her coils tightening around T'sa's chest, crushing her, even as the lapis reacts and strengthen her ribs to keep them from breaking, "if the intruder was from thisss world."_

_"It's not possible," T'sa gasps, choking in horror. "Mistress—"_

_"Do you doubt me yet, High Priessstesss!" she roars, **"Awaken and protect my weapon!"**_

She jerks forwards as the trance breaks, the incense censors shattering as her lapis-infused talons hook on their chains. Her beak smashes into the goddess's shrine itself, though its sharp edge cannot mar the celestial gold.

"Vulture's rotting wings!" she squawks, blasting the cinders away with a gust of desert wind, and staggers to her feet. A thought summons cold water to splash over her face, instantly clearing her lingering pain and bringing her mind to razor focus.

"The vault," T'sa murmurs, spinning on her claws with a nod at her frightened assistant, kneeling in the back of the prayer room, to clean up the mess. She raises her hand and her veil and armor appear with the slightest hiss over her robes. With a grimace, she yanks a feather from her wrist and watches with satisfaction as it shimmers and turns into solid lapis lazuli, sharp and deadly.

"This won't take long, Initiate," she chirps, brushing past the hyena-form woman and sweeps out of the prayer room.

The room itself is a large rectangular structure with sturdy sandstone walls and golden pillars, the floor composed of smoothly raked sand. A statue of Registrana, coiled around herself with her ruby eyes staring calmly down on supplicants, dominates the back wall. From her open mouth, now-severed chains attached to her golden fangs support a bowl of incense. For the ritual trance, only burning snake scales would do, although mixed in with as many herbs as T'sa could add to dampen the horrible smell. It is open to the rest of the temple, as it is more magic than incense that T'sa needs to reach out to contact Registrana, so if some of the smoke is lost…well, at least she doesn't have to suffer alone. The corridors leading to it are sandstone, sand, and gold again, until the main worship hall, which has mosaics in lapis and emerald tile. The vault is another matter.

T'sa stops at a seemingly random spot on the wall and crouches. She plunges her talons deep into the sand, until they can go no further. Slowly, as she concentrates, she sees white light blazing through the half meter of sand that separates her from her talons.

"Go forth!" she caws, and with a jerk she feels her spirit talons catch on the pull ring hidden deep under the temple. She yanks her arms out of the sand with a grunt, and her spirit talons mimic her actions. The wall in front of her slides open.

In it, a tiny chamber half the size of her private prayer room, there is a male. And a human, no less, though his scent burns her nostrils. He stinks of death and black magic, and wears a twisted armor of tentacles and horns that seems almost organic. A long violet blade extends from one arm, and what flesh she can see is the same blue as the lips of those that have died under the sand.

He is forcing the violet blade into a sphere of blazing gold that pulses so brightly T'sa cannot imagine how his eyes have not been seared from their sockets. Only her veil protects her from the light, and lets her see inside to the slim dagger lying on a pedestal, its hilt a brilliant golden snake with red eyes, the blade a sickly poison green—Registrana's fang.

"Heretic—turn and face me!" she screeches, and throws the feather with all her might as she pours energy back into her claws. It explodes into crystalline shards on his armor, and the figure turns to look at her, still calmly forcing his blade through the shield.

**"YOUR MAGIC IS POWERLESS AGAINST ME,"** the creature intones, and T'sa screams at the sound of its voice. It is everything that is wrong and unnatural—but terribly, strangely sad.

With a flash, the shield flickers and dies and the priestess shoots her sacred talons at him. They rake across his armor, tearing lines of desert fire into his exposed flesh, and T'sa stamps her foot, changing the stone of the vault beneath him into quagmire of sand. The man chuckles grimly even as the weight of his armor pulls him down to his kneecaps into the sand.

"Sink into the sand's embrace!" she cries, then clutches her throat as he points at her and a ball of searing, violet magic slams into her veil. The fabric protects her eyes and her feathers cast the magic back at him, making him hiss in surprise as the energy splatters against his skin, but she feels a searing pain in the flesh of her neck, and even when she opens her beak, no noise comes out.

She reaches for the cleansing water of the oasis, pleading for Registrana's help, but her connection to her magic has been cleanly severed. It is quickly recovering, and she can almost hear the goddess' furious hisses, but for the moment, she can do nothing but brandish her talons.

The sand smashes back into solidity around the man's legs, and there is a horrible crunch of shattering bone and splitting muscle. He falters for a moment as he is reaching for the dagger, and T'sa expects him to topple. But instead he floats upwards from the floor, spitting, crackling violet energy streaming from his torso and reforming into his ragged skirt, under which she can see no sign of human feet.

**"YOU ARE NULL AND VOID,"** he says flatly, and scoops the dagger up from its resting place. T'sa leaps for him, her talons reaching for his throat, and just as they touch flesh he vanishes with the boom of inrushing air.

"No!" she shrieks as she falls against the pedestal, the heavy stone slamming into her breastplate. Liquid tears, precious water, stain the feathers under her eyes.

The last of the three artifacts—the legendary weapons of the Curator, the Library Gatekeeper, and the High Priestess of Registrana—is gone.

The raven woman bows her head and sinks to her knees before the pedestal. Without another word, she begins to pray.

**"I HAVE IT,"** the man announces as he appears in a darkened room, high in a palace above a black city. **"WHERE IS SHE?"** He clutches his side, where the claw marks remain. He must rest soon, but for his daughter, he will hold out a little longer.

"You are certain that it will work as a portal key?" the woman demands, tossing a dagger idly as she slumps deeper into the armchair. The old man, leaning heavily on his staff, smiles.

"Now, the Voidwalker would not get us a substandard artifact," he murmurs. "After all, he knows what is at stake."

**"YOUR CURSED CHARMS ARE ENOUGH TO KEEP ME FROM TAKING HER FROM YOU, SO I HAVE DONE AS YOU ASKED. GIVE HER TO ME!"**

"You mean your daughter?" the old man asks, snapping his fingers. A little girl, with wide eyes and hair the color of sand, creeps out of the darkness and looks up fearfully at the huge Voidwalker.

**"SWEET ONE,"** the man murmurs, dropping the dagger to clatter on the floor as he sinks to his knees. **"WHAT BARGAINS YOU MADE WITH THE VOID TO RESCUE HER, I DO NOT CARE TO KNOW."**

"My pleasure," the woman says, smirking. The man tilts his horned head, puzzled. The girl pokes her head out around the old man's cane and he forgets everything. He reaches out a gauntleted hand to the little girl, his heart swelling with feelings he thought cauterized.

"Go to him," the old man says softly, and with a squeal, she runs to the man, who opens up his arms to catch her—

"Surprised to see me?"

Katarina reaches down and picks up the dagger, examining the heft. It molds instantly to fit her hand—it's a little too long and heavy for her, but shrinks and lightens within seconds.

"Excellent," she says briskly.

"I'll send word to our contact," Swain says, sighing heavily. "The Demacians aren't stupid enough to say anything about who they are using to create the portal or how they will do it in the Institute, and more's the pity. This is all Talon's been able to find out—a weapon of those beast-men's people is required to open the portal."

"It's one thing we have that they don't, and all their knowledge is useless without the key," Katarina snaps. "Don't be so pessimistic."

"Don't let me catching you use that on the Fields," he says sternly, and Katarina laughs and winks at him.

"Don't you worry about me, Tactician," she says sweetly.

"Hmph. Someone, get that thing out of here," he calls as he walks to the door, leaning heavily on his cane, "and sent it to Zaun. Singed should be able to take care of any lingering…ill feelings."

Katarina smiles, and slips Registana's Fang into her boot.


	15. Pulse

_**Author's Note: This is the Evelynn judgment I attribute to my Evelynn. **_

**_I cannot figure out how to make this link work. It's the Evelynn Judgment by Tsaalyo in the League of Legends fan fiction forums.  
_**

_**Also, there's a little something in here for you, Badok **_

Chapter 1: Pulse

Ahri's chambers are not what he expected.

As a creature of seduction, he had supposed…well…his imagination and the vast array of books in the Great Library did provide a large amount of source material that he could not bring himself to voice. He had been ready to brace himself against a wide variety of charm spells and love magics. However, whatever array of rose-colored silks he had imagined, the sight that greets him after rising early in the morning, breaking his fast with a buttery cook book, and making his cautious way to the Nine Tailed Fox's room at the edge of the Ionian wing, makes him stand speechless for a moment.

It is as if he has suddenly been transported in a lush forest, a place of tall, green-leaved trees and cold, trickling streams and deep pools in shadowed glens. He can see no evidence of walls or stone or anything other than the lazy sprawl of nature. He glances over his shoulder and is relieved that he can still see the hallway—the door appears as a square cut out of the chilly morning air.

The chill. Nasus supposes that the air would feel pleasant on a human's skin, but for him, the air is wet enough to stick in his lungs, so moist and cold that his fur grows thick and dark as it drinks in the humidity. The moisture condenses on his chestplate and he shudders as he is forced to take another breath. The cold settles into his bones and he stamps his feet to try and keep his blood flowing.

"Ah, Nasus," Ahri purrs, and he glances up to see her lying on a hammock strung between two pine trees, their needles silvered by dew. The fabric itself is so fine and pale that he has to squint to see it. She is wearing a strawberry-and-white dress with a green cloth butterfly attached by a braid to her waist, and a series of slender sticks through her short black hair, all in distinctively Ionian style. Ionian…Ah.

He smiles at her slightly and her golden eyes narrow in suspicion.

"Is the land from which you hail, fox-woman?"

"As best as I can recreate it," she answers, her tails closing into one compact bundle as she leaps lithely from her bed to a branch, which dips under her weight until it is low enough for her to spring to the ground.

"What is missing should not be thought of so closely, lest its loss, ever-present, tear at your heart," he growls gravely. He understands this. The temptation to use his magic on his own quarters was…powerful. He compromised with a more simple room, in the style of his people, familiar enough to let him rest easily but no elaborate illusion of that which was gone.

"It is as I like it," she says, rising to her feet as her tails flare out around her. "If I returned here in life, it would not be as I knew it. And I am not as it would know me."

"You are more suited to communicate with me in your current shape," he says, watching her look at the moss on the trees, her lips tightly pressed together. "And your tails and ears remind me of my own kind. I think I thus prefer you as you are, fox-woman."

She smiles, slow and wicked, as she looks up at him. "I remind you of your own people, dear Curator? I could be very similar indeed, if that is what you desired."

"I desire nothing," he growls firmly, regretting his flash of pity. Ahri rolls her eyes and sighs, her tails flicking behind her.

"Yes, yes, I remember," she snaps. "Right this way, then, incorruptible one."

She pads across the forest floor and he follows, letting the door fall shut behind him. After a few minutes, they reach a clearing filled with spring moss and large, flat stones—an obvious meeting place.

"You have made this very comfortable for us," he rumbles.

"Anything for Lux," Ahri says, perching on one of the rocks. "I don't like seeing her get pushed around by a man."

Nasus huffs and lowers himself onto the ground. His skin glows with desert heat long enough to chase the dew on the moss away, and he folds his legs over each other until he is sitting comfortably, with his staff resting on his lap.

"Is the fact that her assailant is male significant?" he asks, twitching his ears at the sound of birdsong.

"Usually I don't think much of human men," she sniffs. "They are easily controlled by their desires. Although, when you set your sights on someone and they could care less, you grow to appreciate the fallibility of humans."

She lets out a long-suffering sigh and Nasus, slightly confused and definitely uncomfortable, grows very interested in the flowers by his sandaled feet.

They listen to the continued serenade of the birds until Ahri's ears, hidden in her air, perk up enough so he can see their tufted tips.

"Ah, they're here—hey, why are you so early, anyways?" she asks suspiciously.

"In case you planned to attack me, I wanted to minimize casualities," he says gravely, tilting his head in her direction. A certain wry amusement passes across her face.

"Don't you trust me, Curator?" she purrs, her tails twining around her as she rises.

"I trust you more than I thought I would when I first made your acquaintance, fox-woman," he growls, "but the task before us is great and the potential for betrayal equally so. I assure you that I believed you would have put up a good fight—for a near-human, at least."

"Hmph," Ahri says softly, looking him up and down appraisingly. "You continue to surprise me, Nasus." She flounces away before he can think of a reply, and he sits quietly, enjoying the illusory sunlight and grimacing at the oily feel of his fur as it continues to drink in the water from the air. He won't need another drink for weeks.

But, if it was all an illusion, how could he get water? He frowns, glancing back up at Ahri. Perhaps…only the light and the birdsong was illusion? Or the space was magically extended, with artificial sunlight and climate induced by the Summoners at the fox-woman's request?

"This place-makes-the Ball-feel rusty," Orianna complains, her unnatural voice echoing past the trees. Nasus leans back and watches with eyes half-closed as Ahri leads all four of her visitors to the clearing.

Malzahar is dressed in bright colors of white and yellow that are dusty with sand, and behind his mask Nasus can see the man's skin, the dusty gold of a Shurima native. His eyesockets remain glowing pits of unearthly light. He floats just over the grass, golden energy supporting his feet, looking occasionally back at Orianna, who looks much the same as always. Her carved lips curve up sharply as the Ball helps her over a mass of roots, nudging under her elbow. Lux is just behind them, back in her normal garb, with a white-fisted grip on her baton as she scans her surroundings warily, and bring up the rear is Evelynn, her wicked smile appearing and disappearing as she fades in and out of visibility in patches of sunlight and shadow. Her magenta hair forms perfect, jagged points above her head, and the runic seal between her eyes gleams with fresh energy.

"Good morning, Curator, lovely to see you!" she chirps as she catches sight of him. Her high heels tear into the soil like claws as she dances over to his side, and sits in his shadow.

"You are excited, Miss Evelynn," he notes gravely.

"I love a good plot," she says, her eyes twinkling. "Everything's always so boring around here, Nasus, you have no idea. Strife and suffering kept tightly under wraps, bottled up to hiss and splutter under rugs and door frames. Sweet poison, you know, bubbling everywhere, but no one ever lets me get at it. It's terribly frustrating, dear Curator, for one such as myself, but oh now you've upset the cauldron and its eating away at the floorboards. Treachery! War! Sorrow! Chaos, sweet chaos, and pain…and all through it you want to protect this tiny, frail little creature. That's so very interesting, dear Nasus. I look forwards to the outcome."

"But yet you do still want to help me," he growls softly, unimpressed by her speech. The demoness was a creature of evil, but there was a certain inconsistency in her words and actions…and Madred had given him access to the records of her judgment.

"Well, I wouldn't do well in a world ruled by the forces of Order," she sniffs, crossing her long legs.

"Then why not work with the Shadow Isles to get the Library for yourselves?" he asks.

Evelynn shot him a look through her long eyelashes. "I'm not part of them like Mordekaiser or Elise or Hecarim," she said primly. "I don't much like the undead and I don't much like order in general, ever the order of the damned. I can stand doing a little good if it keeps things new."

He pats her bare shoulder gently. "Did you end up listening to my conversation with Lady Luxanna?"

"Of course," she says. "What kind of demon would I be if I didn't?"

"So then you heard me tell her I trust you," he presses her. A faint, violet blush creeps up the she-devil's cheeks.

"That may prove your undoing," she warns.

"Perhaps," he rumbles.

She smiles shyly, a small thing, startling on her lush, wicked face, and returns to invisibility.

Ahri and the others reach the small clearing as he finishes his conversation and each, warily, takes their place in the circle. The Nine-Tailed Fox curls up across from Nasus, her eyes fixed on his face, while Orianna and Malzahar stand on her left side and on Nasus' right, halfway around the circle. Malzahar sits cross-legged in midair, while Orianna remains standing, her head tilted at an odd angle as she winds up the key on her back. The Ball, ever watchful, floats around the perimeter.

Lux crosses to sit by Nasus. The skin on her face is drawn and pale and her shoulders hunch a little as she looks up at him. He looks at her shimmering hair and is aware that despite her difference in dress, she remains as sparklingly lovely as she did at the ball. With the barrier of perception crossed, it remained so, he guesses.

"Do not fear, _nek'asha'mei_," he murmurs softly, before he turns his attention back to the rest of the group.

"You were wise to come here," he begins. "You are of different peoples, and none of you are human, except the Lady Luxanna. Still you understand the threat that is to come.

Malzahar, Orianna, you are not as…caught up on circumstances as the rest of us. To be brief; on my homeworld there is a library, the Great Library, and it is the knowledge of many worlds and many people. There are great and terrible secrets, weapons of that my people, the Eternal Empire, have captured from our enemies and locked away so they can never be used again. There is power in the knowledge there and spells that are more than Runeterra has ever known, incantations that would tear your planet apart quicker than another Rune War, magic that could give Morgana victory over Kayle in an instant, or bring the Void a thousand new conquests, or give the Shadow Isles an endless supply of corpses to feast on. If any one nation or power could command what lies within, they would be the master of all others. It is so dangerous that not even those of the Eternal Empire are allowed to look upon it. To protect it, one of our people is selected to become the Curator of the Sands, the guardian of this library from all that would use it for evil or good, one of such incorruptible heart and mind that they can be trusted with all the knowledge that is hidden within. This guardian, as you know, is I.

Now, this library is well protected again the immortals of my world and the humans, as well as from the denizens of the other worlds we know. However, your people, your Runeterra is unknown to us, and thus we are vulnerable to you. If I was there, I could hold the Great Library against any assault, but as I am not…"

"It's vulnerable," Lux says grimly, "which is where I come in."

"If she gets a crack at it, I want one too," Malzahar grumbles.

"Nobody gets a 'crack' at anything," he rumbles ominously. "The purpose of this gathering is to convince everyone that its extremely important that no one gets their hands on my library."

"The Ball-and I-under-stand your worry, Curator Nas-us," Orianna chimes in. "We do not want any-thing bad to hap-pen."

"I like stability and I don't like men trying to mess with things they do not understand," Ahri hisses. "I'm still listening."

"I'm bored," Evelynn whines plaintively.

"Anyways," Nasus grunts forcefully, fixing his audience with a quelling glare. "I believed that my world was safe from Runeterra and was thus reconciled to my exile. It has come to my attention that there are plans in motion to create a portal from the ruins of Shurima to my world, so that Demacian forces can attack and seize the Great Library. If they managed to take my people by surprise, they could very well flee with dangerous knowledge before the Eternal Empire rallied enough to crush them and close the portal. We must also assume that Noxus and Zaun know about these plans, because of their extensive spy network. I grant Ionia and Piltover the benefit of the doubt that they are not willing to indulge in anything so potentially cataclysmic."

"Demacia has some sort of mage contact that is willing to construct the portal for them and knows how to do so," Lux says briskly. "He or she does not have the last and most crucial reagent to do so, however, which is a sacred weapon, intimately connected to the spirit of Nasus' homeworld, that will allow this person to piece the walls of space to connect the worlds together."

"There are three weapons that I know of that would have that sort of effect," Nasus continues, following on her heels. "My staff, Renekton's glaive, and a dagger that belongs to the priesthood of Registrana…but as that is still on my homeworld, we can forget about it."

Evelynn, unseen in the shadows, taps her chin thoughtfully with a long claw.

"I doubt that anyone could separate Renekton from his weapon without the League knowing about it," Ahri murmurs.

"I agree," Nasus says, "but we cannot entirely discount the possibility, nor that of someone managing to take my staff from me…although I cannot imagine how that would occur. The threat, therefore, should be minimal. However, the Demacians have appointed Lux to find a way to do so, and threatened her life if she does not succeed. I will not allow this to happen."

Lux looks up at him and he pats her hand tenderly.

"I believe our priorities are three-fold. First, we must discover the identity of the Demacian's contact, so that they may be neutralized as a threat. Secondly, we must find where the portal's construction is taking place, so that it may be destroyed and all records that would allow for its rebuilding annihilated," he continues.

"Reasonable enough," Malzahar says.

"Lastly, if possible, we need to keep this matter from the League's attention," Nasus growls. "If the Summoners decide they want my library for themselves, their ability to open a portal will be greater than that of any city state. Therefore, removing knowledge of how to do so is eminently necessary.

We have two months before Lux is expected to present herself in the ruins of Shurima with one of the weapons—before all else that the portal requires is ready. I suggest that we gather as much information as we can in the interim about the forces we are facing before that time, then travel with her to the ruins and defeat our opposition. If the Demacians manage to open a portal at that time, we will be in a position to intervene directly and possibly cross over to my world to aid in its defense. Questions?"

"Sounds good to me," Evelynn yawns.

"The Ball and I will-aid you-as we can, Curator Nas-us," Orianna says firmly.

"We won't let them hurt you, Lux," Ahri says, leaning forwards and looking at Lux intently.

"The Void can't invade, just a little?" Malzahar asks, pouting.

"My world is outside their knowledge," Nasus growls. "And I assure you, even if they did come, the forces of the Eternal Empire would drive you back. It is best that no one has this knowledge, Malzahar. You understand that it could be used to cleanse your twisted army forever."

"Fine," he grumbles. "For Orianna, I'll try and help you out."

Lux remains quiet beside him and he turns to look at her.

"What do you say, my Lady?" he prompts her gently.

"What's your homeworld's name, Nasus?" she asks quietly. Her blue eyes are clouded and he cannot read them.

"We call it Ammun," he answers, puzzled.

"Thank pain," Evelynn groans, "a name instead of 'homeworld'."

"I was just curious," Lux says defensively.

Nasus sighs and puts a paw over his eyes.


	16. Malefic Visions

Chapter 2: Malefic Visions

"_You have failed me, T'sssa!" the goddess hisses, and T'sa bows her head._

"_Mistress, I summoned the temple, and scouts are being sent at this moment to investigate the Black Sands ruins," she caws humbly._

"_The Black Sssandsss Doctrine had nothing to do with thisss! As I told you once, my priestessssss, no one but a creature of another world could have taken my Fang!" Registrana snarls, her scales tearing at T'sa feathers as she coils around her._

"_I tried to stop him, mistress, but his flesh…he regrew it from void energy even as I tore it from his body!" T'sa croaks desperately. Her skeleton is fully changed to lapis but the pressure of Registrana's coils continues to increase. "He could not have been of the Void, or else those wards would have kept him out, and he could not be of another planet or of our own people else the stranger and loyalty runes would have recognized him!"_

"_Hisss name isss Kassssssadin," Registrana hisses cruelly, "and he isss both man and monssster. He isss unique, but I thought that my highessst ssservant would have been able to defeat him, a half-mortal, in combat! Perhapsss you have weakened, T'sssa…perhapsss another ssshould take your place. We ssshall sssee…"_

_T'sa sucked in a startled breath and held it, listening to the blood pounding in her veins. Registrana said nothing lightly…and that meant—_

The hyena-form roars and leaps at T'sa's back as the high priestess slumps into the ritual trance once more, poison gleaming on her outstretched claws and sand in her pelt. Halfway through her leap, she sees T'sa sink down suddenly, as if she's lost consciousness, and bares her teeth for the easy kill—

The one sure way to get out of ritual trance is to lose the connection with one's conscious mind. Surviving such a transition without losing one's soul's grip on one's body was another matter entirely. But T'sa was strong, and as her thoughts fade she calls to the waters of the Oasis of Life, and moments after the pressure of Registrana's scales fades the water touches her and she snaps back to alertness. In one motion she throws herself forwards and slams the sand in the air behind her into solidity, one with the sandstone walls. There is an anguished scream and a spurt of blood, before the quicksand hardens into rock, pressing T'sa painfully into Registrana's statue. She coughs and chokes for the remaining air, gathering her wits and talons together long enough to reopen her tomb. All that is left of the hyena-form is a smear of blood and bone.

T'sa sinks down, digging her talons into the sand, and touches her crest to the warm grains. The smell of the desert fills her nostrils as she takes slow, deep breaths, letting the grit slip into her mouth. She will not weep.

"Nasus," she whispers, feeling a shiver of old pain run through her. "I swore I would leave you be, but now is a time for oath-breaking."

She swallows, smiling slightly at the rasping feel of the sand slipping down into her belly to be changed to gemstone, and rise sto her feet. She summons her armor from its resting place and adjusts the veil around her beak so the starlit gems do not block her vision.

T'sa presses her claws into the back wall of the shrine and sends out her sacred talons. She waits, even as footfalls begin on the edge of her hearing. There is a cold shock as they break into open air, and she follows that shock, pushing her body through the sandstone down the path her talons took, energy within energy, until her body emerges, crouching, in the shadow that Registrana's temple casts in Ammun's triple sun.

She sets her eyes upon the walls of the Great Library at the edge of sight and starts to walk.

The Void is a hissing mass, creeping tendrils crawling over unprotected flesh and plunging into minds. It is a murky darkness filled with gleaming eyes.

Malzahar misses it. For several years after his exaltation in Icanthia, the Void was constantly in his thoughts. He could hear it, always whispering, follow its orders and receive the harbingers it sent down to Runeterra; Kog'maw and Cho'gath. Frustrating Kassadin and his null spheres was always around the corner, trying to foil his attempts to integrate himself and his allies within the League and continue to keep the power in Icanthia growing. But slowly, subtly, it had grown faint, and its vision of annihilation quiet. He had received no warning of Kha'zix's appearance on Valoran, and his companions had grown distant and savage.

When he had tried to approach Kha'zix, for instance, the insectoid had chittered, "Fear the Void!" and tried to eat him. This was fairly common behavior for Kog'maw, but Malzahar thought that Kha'zix was more intelligent.

It was all very disconcerting, and he thought he would be in a worse mood than he was now if he was not floating down a corridor, Orianna on his arm.

"Tell us-again-what you-plan Pro-phet?" his sweet one trills, the gears in her body rumbling musically as she dances down the hall, the Ball orbiting them at a watchful distance.

"Well, it's really a lovely day for dreamwatching," he says, patting her hand. "And I've been doing a lot of practice to make sure it doesn't cause coma-inducing nightmares."

"And this-will allow-us to gather infor-mation for Curator Nas-us?" she asks.

"With luck," he says modestly, "it will give us more insight into the Demacian prince's motivations for his sudden change in policy."

"You are-so very cle-ver Prophet," Orianna chirps, twisting her head all the way around so she can widen her mouth in a beautifully unnerving smile. Her bright, mechanical eyes swivel open wider as he pauses to look at her.

He is fairly certain that most everyone in the Institute questions his attraction to Orianna. Her unnatural movements and robotic voice frighten the humans, and her kittenish devotion to the Ball baffles the monsters. He had been contemptuous of his own feelings towards her, at first, until a match where his summoner—a little female called Eyowyn—had murmured, surprised, "well, she is intelligent, and kind enough," after he had watched the Clockwork Lady run off to the bottom lane with Twisted Fate.

He was fond of Eyowyn, for that. After the match, he spent a long time in his chambers considering his feelings. Orianna was neither hideously mortal nor untouchably alien. She was pleasing of form, utterly cold and ruthless in battle, and her thoughts ticked in ways he could barely understand. And he was lonely.

"Thank you, Clockwork Lady," he says graciously, bending over to kiss her cold metal hand. He wonders if she can feel his lips through his mask. "Now to business."

They stop at a storage room for spare reagents, and Malzahar knocks on the door, politely.

"Excuse me," he says to the summoner who opens the door, "Leave now, and forget you saw us."

"I can't—"the poor man stammers, and Malzahar waves his hand lazily. A tendril of void magic darts from his fingers and burrows into the summoner's left eye. His scream of panic is cut off by a spark that shoots down the tentacle and sinks into his eye.

"**Go to other duties and forget this encounter,**" the Prophet of the Void hisses.

"Yes, master," he groans.

Malzahar smiles beneath his mask as the tentacle jerks back into his sleeve and the summoner walks off, his stride quickly returning to normal as the magic sunk into his subconscious.

"That should give us a couple of days," he says, holding open the door for Orianna. "I also included a desire to obstruct others who wished to enter this room."

"Your mag-ic is always excellently-cast, Pro-phet," she says admiringly, patting the Ball as it shoots through the gap to huddle among the crates.

He steps in after her, and closes the door firmly behind them. This particular storage room happens to be built adjacent to the end of the Demacian wing—with Jarvan IV's bedroom not four feet beyond the back wall.

A voidling pops out of his cowl and climbs down his face with its tiny hook feet. It manages to snag a seam that it rides down to his waist, then hops off and lands with a perfect, purple pirouette on the ground.

"Chrrhrchirrr!" the voidling chitters, clapping its arms together.

"Very good," Malzahar says, leaning down to pat its soft head. It makes a gurgle of delight and rolls over, exposing the coarse violet hide of its belly. He scratches it obediently.

A few of Orianna's extraneous circuits burn out from the cuteness of it all.

"Oh-my," she sighs.

Malzahar blushes and yanks his hand back away from the voidling. It's not like she can see it, but he still stands up straight and turns away from her to examine the wall.

"Hmph! Well, are you ready to combine the Ball with my voidling?" he asks, flicking a glob of energy at the seam between two stones. The void matter eats through it—and the front face of all the stones underneath it.

"We do-not like-being parted-from each oth-er," Orianna says sadly. The Ball gives a high pitched whine.

"Well, I need its lasers to cut a straight hole through this wall to Jarvan's room—make sure to stop with an inch to go—and then we can record what he sees under the influence of my visions in the Ball's imaging crystals if it's connected to one of my voidlings," he says reasonably. The voidling tugs on his trouser leg and he rubs its head absentmindedly.

"As you-say Pro-phet," Orianna agrees with a click of gears. The voidling bounces, clicking its claws together, and scrambles up the wall to the small perch carved out by Malzahar's magic.

The Ball, floating just behind, glows briefly with an electrical charge before plates begin to float off its surface. They latch onto the voidling, covering its back, head, and legs with golden metal. A tiny crystal is the last to float between the Ball and the voidling, coming to a stop above the voidling's head. The crystal sparks, and settles down into the metal, which melts slightly accomadate it. Orianna's mouth tightens and a stream of electricity shoots from the tip of the crystal, melting through the stone. The voidling settles down on its haunches as Orianna manipulates the direction of the laser with mechanical whirrs and chirps, directing it to carve a tunnel the small creature can fit through. Malzahar leans against a crate and chants softly, infusing his voidling's claws with the power of the Void.

"**Seek and search and steal,"** he hisses, "**peel and pluck and prick. Connect my power with his mind and its secrets will be ours."**

It grows dark in the storeroom as they continue to work, the mage flames in the corners dimming to show the transition between night and day. Neither Malzahar nor Orianna give it the slightest attention, or pause more than a moment in their work. They know neither hunger nor thirst. They do not sleep.

At last, the Ball gives a loud beep, and Orianna halts in her work. "Pro-phet," she says quietly. "We are-close to-the prince."

"I am prepared," Malzahar grunts, straightening up and lacing his fingers together, "be ready to record." He takes a deep breath, and exhales…pushing his mind into that of the voidling. Maddening colors flash before his vision, and his thoughts shiver in pain as they are compressed and forced into an alien mind. The world goes black, then violet, and a low hissing sound becomes audible, the background noise of the Void.

Malzahar blinks the voidling's yellow eyes and looks around. Its head has a limited range of motion, but he can see well in the dark and its claws are sensitive to motion. It feels Jarvan's breathing, rumbling beyond the stone. He spits a little void matter onto to stone ahead, and tears an opening in the bubbling rock. It takes several moments before he can assume control over the voidling's leg, then he climbs carefully through the hole.

Jarvan's room is terrifyingly huge from the voidling's viewpoint. It stinks of soot and dragon and man, and is dominated by a huge bed of pale wood and gold and black cloth. Weapon racks along the wall hold his lance and Shyvanna's clawed gauntlets. A closet, built into the side, has rows of armor and more casual clothing.

Malzahar directs the voidling to a bedpost and begins to clamber up the wood. Its claws hook on the bedsheet, and Malzahar resorts to using a little void energy to let it float delicately up to Jarvan's head. He is snoring, one arm curled around Shyvanna, who is draped over his chest, while the other rests tenderly in her hair. The voidling snorts softly and makes its way to the back of Jarvan's head, carefully pushing his black hair out of the way.

It lines up its claws carefully. Malzahar starts to sweat as the voidling's mind pulses, covering his vision with writhing darkness as the Void tries to push him out. He fights it silently for two long minutes before it retreats, letting him take a voidling-sized gulp of air and sink its claws into Jarvan's flesh. Bursts of violet energy shoot under the man's skin and he jerks slightly in his sleep before Malzahar forces his way into his dreams.

Heat and sorrow. Malzahar cloaks himself in shadows and looks around. He and Jarvan are on a grassy plain at midday. A thought roils through Jarvan and the Prophet of the Void seizes it. It looks like a translucent scrap of cloth, and he holds it up to the light to read it.

"Ionia," Malzahar murmurs.

There is a huge nest in front of them, and Shyvanna has thrown herself atop it, weeping bitter tears of fire. There are dents in the grass where eggs once were.

Another thought. "Zed."

The scene changes. A huge pyramid of black metal floats above a destroyed Demacian village. Jarvan roars in fury—a change. Demacian ships at the Ionian shore. Irelia, stands at the dock, shaking her head.

"You cannot bring armed forces into Ionia! Are you the same as the Noxians?"

Anger. Change.

Three dimly lit figures steal through the Demacian palace. Malzahar recognizes them as the Kinkou. A guard spots them, demands that they stop, and is slain in moments. They continue to a room where Zed stands, smirking, his arms across his chest, as Shyvanna paces the ground in front of him, snarling, "They do not belong to you!"

The Kinkou attack, Shen hurling his kama at Zed's back, and the Master of Shadows disappears, flickering away into his shadow. The weapon slashes Shyvanna's side and she roars in fury, her body flickering as she changes into her dragon shape.

"Trying to trap me for those wretches?" Zed hisses. "You'll see the fruit of your foolishness on the morrow, dragon."

He vanishes. Shyvanna lunges at the ninja as Akali says, flatly, "Hesistation is the seed of defeat.

Change. Bloody fragments of black eggshells litter the flagstones of the entry hall. Within the gore are small, scaly bodies.

"We cannot control the Kinkou," Karma says sorrowfully.

"You must let us deal with Syndra," Irelia warns. "We will not let any city-state land soldiers in Ionia again."

"Do not deny me," Zed spits, crushing the last egg under his foot. He is gone before Shyvanna's claws can tear his head from his shoulders.

The next scene is older. Jarvan speaks, threatening to drive the Noxians from Ionia himself. The rematch. He stands in the Placidium as the Elders calmly say they will remain neutral—all they wanted was their island back. Frustrated, furious, he returns to Demacia. He is unable to challenge the League. Noxus, smug, looming ever black against the sky, a taunting fly unable to be squashed.

Being summoned for the first time—the indignity of being controlled burns through Jarvan with such heat that Malzahar draws back. Demacian summoners, turning to the League rather than to their king. The planet's safety assured…and all held helpless before the magic of the summoners. Temporal stasis sets in over Kalamandu and he feels fear for the first time. A smile on the face of Zilean.

Frustration. Lux, defiant, helping Ionians, refusing orders. Her missions are slower and less reliable. The greatest Demacian spy no longer wants to help her country. Shyvanna, raging against Lux's disloyalty to the country the half-dragon loves, pacing in their chambers. He holds her, soothes her, promises that the Crownguards know their place.

The vision whirls so quickly that Malzahar feels sick. He pushes at Jarvan's mind. "I know the why, little prince, but how? Who will open the portal to Ammun?"

Darkness and a forest outside the institute. Quin and Valor are nearby, keeping watch. There is a thunderous crackle of energy.

"I will show you true power, Demacian."

Protection for Demacian and all righteous folk—it is little to ask for that. Hope swells in the memory. And Nasus is an animal…

His mind writhes and forces Malzahar out. He feels Jarvan stir as he regains control of the voidling, and quickly directs it off the bed and back into the hole. Orianna commands "Protect!" and the voidling is suddenly picked up and carried through the tunnel at tremendous speeds until it crashes into the unyielding surface of the Ball. It falls to the floor as Malzahar relaxes his control and returns to his body.

The plates and crystal float off of the voidling and meld back into the Ball's surface. With a sigh, the creature melts into energy and vanishes.

"Quickly, now, back to our chambers," Malzahar says, his speech slurred by the effort of reasserting control over his own limbs.

Orianna is strangely silent.

"Darling?" he asks, floating over to her and touching her slender metal shoulder.

"He does not-seem evil," she says.

"I do," Malzahar assures her.

"That is-little comfort-that we do-the right thing," Orianna sighs, with an accompanying whirr from the Ball.

"Absolute power corrupts absolutely," Malzahar says, guiding her out of the room and shutting the door behind them. It is just before dawn, and the corridor is deserted. "I know that better than most."

They disappear into the darkness, as miles away, another figure appears out of the shadows in the streets of Zaun, her magenta hair freshly slicked into spikes.


	17. Shadow Walk

**Hey guys! This is the second installment of the four-part series of chapters with other POVs than Nasus. I hate to bother, but reviews would be appreciated to see if you like these little glimpses into my other character's heads. If you hate it...well, after Chapter 5 they should go back to Nasus with a few little T'sa snippets so I can keep her story up to date with the action in Runeterra.  
**

**Also, this story is planned to have 3 parts, each with 11 chapters, and, unless I change my mind, a sequel-entitled either A Shadow in the Desert or The Black Sands Doctrine. I know Miao Long mentioned that my title is something that turns readers off, so I am vacillating between using the same pattern for continuity or changing it up to make it more attractive. Thoughts?  
**

**Enjoy the chapter!  
**

Chapter 3: Shadow Walk

In Evelynn's life—a long life, a strange life, with many bits and pieces that she does not fully remember or understand—there are two things that she knows to depend on.

The first is that a man will see what he wants to see more clearly than the truth. Sometimes it's not necessary for her to retreat to invisibility, to pull down the veil of night around her. People are willing to only see her smile and her bared skin and not notice that her teeth are fangs and her face is blue. They will look past her unusual hair and dress if she wills them too, and as it takes less energy, she usually does. She likes to walk through streets and markets like a normal human woman, watch the twittering mortals go about their business, enjoy the petty discomforts squirming underneath the surface of their blank, sheep faces. She can look for victims in comfort, and sometimes she can even seize an opportunity to both sate her hunger and quell pangs of conscience by killing other, mortal predators.

The second is that her instincts are never wrong. Sometimes she thinks that they are, tries to ignore them, and ends up crashing into calamity after calamity. Sometimes she follows them, and suffers for it, hunts a prey too strong for her or sneaks into a warded area or plies her charm against an iron will. But in the end, they are right, and she is wrong, and all turns out in her favor in the end. If she follows them. It is a crucial if.

The moment Nasus mentioned the last artifact weapon they had screamed at her. A shrill chorus from her damned soul. Her senses were so finely tuned to seek out suffering that they could locate the potential for it miles away. The word "dagger" had thrummed all the way to Noxus. But when she had left Ahri's chambers and made her way to the Institute's outskirts, the feeling had changed, lying low and heavy in her, urging her not east, but north…to Zaun.

So here she is, skulking the streets, following the sickly scent of possible pain. The air in the city reeks of it. Mutants line the edges of the streets, reaching out deformed limbs in silent pleas to passerby. Most die in days—and they are lucky. Some find their way in crime, or as part of the Noxian war machine. Some join Mordekaiser's legions, and find no mercy in their deathless service (Evelynn hates that man.)

The way he looks at her makes her feel…unclean.

The agony in Zaun's air makes Evelynn feel slightly drunk when she visits, and she takes extra care in how she places her stilettos as she edges around the corner of the alley. It's not necessary for her to be invisible or even disguise herself in this city of all cities, but her instincts hiss "hide!" So she hides.

And she is right to hide. Looking directly at her is a scowling Darius. Cute, though, she thinks.

He could stand to wash his hair.

She leans against the wall and taps her fingers against her lips as she watches the Glorious Executioner drop a bundle of sacking on the ground with a grunt. It so obviously contains a person that Evelynn places a graceful hand over her eyes in despair for the art of subtlety. He mutters a curse and rolls his huge shoulders.

"Damn butcher better get here soon," he rumbles.

She steps away from the wall and strolls languidly over to the bundle. While Darius patrols in a wide circle, his hand on the handle of his axe, she pokes a hole in the sacking with a fingernail and leans to fit one wide eye in the gap. The darkness is no obstacle to her examining the vivid blue stomach she finds herself looking at.

She whistles quietly and leans back on her haunches.

"Kassadin, Kassadin, Kassadin, what's a self-righteous gorgeous hunk like you doing in a sack?" she asks the motionless figure before her.

Kassadin, being unconscious, gives no answer.

"Come on," she coaxes, "I bet if you really try, you can tell me!"

Evelynn chuckles and leaps backwards just as Darius turns around, his dark eyes flaring with suspicion. She lands lithely on a protruding gargoyle, barely recognizable under a thick layer of grime, and climbs up to perch on the head.

"There you are," Darius grunts, and she tenses slightly, before she sees the Mad Chemist slip out of a connecting street.

"I hear you," Singed says, the dirty bandages around his face shifting around his grin. "What does your lovely lady have for me this fine day?"

"Don't get too excited," Darius warns, leaning on the butt of his axe. "You can't kill him, or even hurt him."

"What's the point of purchasing my services, then?" Singed scoffs.

"We want him to forget the last two weeks," Darius says, prodding the bundle with his mailed foot. "Give him some residual memories so it's not too alarming, but he's not to remember a thing about where he's been or what he's been doing."

"Curious," Singed says softly, leaning down to examine Kassadin. "I don't suppose you'd like to tell me why you need his mind wiped?"

"Not if you want to keep that bald head on your shoulders, chemist," Darius growls.

"Fair enough," Singed murmurs. "Leave me to my work—this shouldn't take but an hour."

"You'll get your money when we see him back at the Institute, safe and sound," Darius says, and hefts his axe over his shoulder as he strides away. Singed, chuckling softly under his breath, sings, "mix, mix, swirl, mix…"

Evelynn takes a deep breath, swelling her lungs until they are fit to burst, then seals her mouth and nose shut with magic. Then she jumps, straight off the gargoyle and onto Singed's back.

"Wha—" the chemist says, startled, poison already starting to leak from the bottle he carries, then groans and collapses as thousands of black spikes shoot up from the ground and tear through his body. His agony flares, fresh and delicious, and the shadows drink it in and surround Evelynn.

"I've got the touch," she whispers sweetly, resuming breathing as she shoves the cork back into the bottle. With a hard strike to his neck with her elbow, Singed collapses on the filthy ground.

She rummages through his pockets and takes out three vials-one red, one blue, and one an inky, writhing black. Evelynn spreads them in her hand and stares at them, concentrating.

Heat bursts against her forehead as she confidently smashes the red vial against Singed's forehead and selects the blue vial as she heads over to Kassadin. The black vial gets stuck into her brassiere as she shreds open the sacking with her nails and grabs Kassadin's chin beneath his mask.

"Open up, Kassy," she purrs, and pours the contents of the blue vial down his throat. The Void Walker coughs raggedly several times, before the pale lights of his eyes flicker back into existence.

"**EVELYNN**?" he gasps.

"Tell me who did this to you, Kassy," she says, holding down his feeble attempts to rise with a firm palm on his chest.

"**THE-THE NOXIANS**," he rumbles weakly. "**THEY TOLD ME THEY HAD—MY DAUGHTER...BUT IT WAS THE DEICEIVER IN HER STOLEN SHAPE.**"

"Poor thing," Evelynn coos, leaning over Kassadin's mask. He blinks and closes his eyes quickly as her chest comes directly over him. "Why did they have LeBlanc pretend to be your daughter?"

"**THEY WANTED AN ARTIFACT FROM ANOTHER WORLD—A DAGGER CALLED REGISTRANA'S FANG. THEY TOLD ME THAT I WOULD FIND THE TRACES OF THE PORTAL MAGIC THAT WOULD LEAD ME THEIR IN SHURIMA, AND I DID DISCOVER A WAY THERE. I TRACED THE WEAPON'S MAGICAL SIGNATURE AND FOUGHT OFF A NATIVE CREATURE TO RETRIEVE IT, AND THEN I BROUGHT IT BACK TO NOXUS."**

"Who has it now, Kassy?" Evelynn says, reaching slowly and deliberately inside her brassiere for the black vial.

"**I WOULD GUESS THE SINISTER BLADE, BUT I DID NOT SEE WHAT BECAME OF IT BEFORE I WAS INCAPACITATED. EVELYNN…WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE? WHY DID YOU RESCUE ME?"**

"Oh, Kassy," she whispers, "I'm the one asking questions here. And thank you. You've been very informative. Now drink up…and rest."

With a single swift motion, she pulls out the vial and forces it down his throat. Choking, pulses of Void energy coming off him erratically, Kassadin swallows it whole.

"**ABOMINATION**—**WHAT HAVE YOU**—**ARGH**!"

The light dies in his eyes and Kassadin slumps to the ground, his muscles relaxing. Evelynn chuckles to herself and stands up, brushing dust off her arms.

A man will see what he wants to see rather than the truth.

She slinks over to Singed and slaps him briskly. The red liquid has sunk into his flesh and his wounds are already closing.

"Whuh—what?" he mumbles.

"You having one of your episodes, chemist?" she asks harshly.

"Evelynn? Always a pleasure to see you, my sweet," Singed says, recovering quickly.

"What were you doing on top of Kassadin?" she demands, leaning forwards. The Mad Chemist chuckles softly and rubs his hands together.

"I was administering a little medicine, my sweet," he says. "I suppose I got a little excited."

He fumbles around in his pockets, and turns up nothing. A quick look around the street shows him spots of blood and shards of broken glass. All normal.

Evelynn smiles and leans forwards, kissing Singed lightly on the side of his cheek. "I'm sure you gave poor sick Kassy a lot of help."

"But of course, my sweet," Singed says, his hand moving up to cup her cheek. Before it can touch her, she is ten feet away and already vanishing.

"Have a wonderful day, Singed," she calls.

"Any day where I get to see you is wonderful, my sweet," he replies.

Singed lurches forwards to pick up Kassadin and start the laborious process of hauling him to the Institute as Evelynn leans against the wall and laughs, long and merrily, to herself. She brushes off her lips with the back of her hand and strolls off, a mere flicker in the corner of the eye.

So, the Noxians had the key and the Demaians had the way. Good thing they don't like to work together, she muses. It's something to tell Nasus, at least.

_ "So then you heard me tell her I trust you," the Curator growls, a faint smile on his muzzle. Evelynn feels a rush of warm pleasure run through her quite different than the feelings she gets from pain. She can feel the strength of him, radiating silently in pulses of power than taste like desert sand. She leans her head so lightly against his side that she hopes he will not notice it._

_ "That may prove your undoing," she warns, a little flicker of fear running through her. His fur brushes against his cheek and she sighs. It is so hard for her to control her nature…_

_ "Perhaps," he says, and the scorn in his blood red eyes at even the thought of her betrayal makes her tingle all the way to her blue toes._

_ She could take his staff and be with the Demacians before he knew it was gone. She wants to, in the dark part of her that cries out for pain, always pain, more and more, drowning the world in tides of suffering. Her instincts tell her that would be the path of most agony for the people around her. But she ignores them…at her peril._

_ She wants to be trusted. She likes Ahri, she thinks Malzahar and Orianna are adorable, and she pities Lux in a contemptuous sort of way. But Nasus is…different._

_ She likes him…more than the others._

_ And it is frightening._

She blushes violet beneath her invisibility as she slips through the gates of Zaun and slips into a miles-eating run through the countryside. She must keep such thoughts to herself. Such a thing is impossible. He obviously has some sort of attachment to little Miss Crownguard that supersedes all else.

She doesn't mind. She can bear it. Perhaps it is the price for going against her instincts—she must feed on her own suffering.

Evelynn blinks furiously and leaps into the trees to run until the wind scours the signs of her weakness from her face.


	18. Orb of Deception

**It's been awhile, hasn't it? This chapter ends the series from other points of view. The next several will focus on Nasus once again. This chapter also references my other fic, Permafrost Diplomacy, whose events directly influence this chapter, though they are explained within and it is not necessary to read it. **

**Thank you for the reviews and favorites while this has been on hiatus. It will be finished, never fear!**

****** Enjoy :) **

Chapter 4: Orb of Deception

_Two hours before Evelynn leaves for Zaun…_

Ahri hums contentedly to herself as she watches her guests leave, back on her perch in one of the graceful trees in her room. Her tails curl around her idly, shielding her from the faint chill of the morning with their soft white fur.

Plans within plans, she thinks contentedly, rolling over onto her back and staring up into the illusory dawn. Malzahar and Orianna, so sweet, so alien, to find the method and the motive. Evelynn, capricious, to explore the trails and tangles of events that led them here. And her, well, she is best with people, and so with people she shall be.

Of all their merry little band (Ahri chuckles softly, wickedly) her duties are the simplest. She relaxes for a long hour, bathing in the sunlight and the dew, letting her long raven hair spill down over the branches, before her eyes snap open and she descends lithely to the ground. Ahri clucks and her orb comes to her, bounding through the leaves to bounce between her tails, sending a pleasant shock of energy through her with each touch. Whenever she is near Nasus, she sips at his immortal soul and finds it easy to keep the opalescent sphere filled and complacent.

She checks her kimono, making sure it is securely tied around her slender waist and low enough to stun any onlookers. Her pale thighs are barely covered by the short skirt, and her delicate feet slip into cherry wood sandals with the slightest of heels. The butterfly charm hanging from her rope belt is brilliant green and easily visible.

Ahri smiles and touches the top, and with a puff of smoke the charm shifts until it appears as a tiny, serpentine dragon, curled so that it bites its tail.

"Bayara-santi," she greets the idol of the Ionian goddess of peace and wisdom companionably, "let's hope that dear Karma is in this morning."

With a flounce, she makes her way to the door, hanging from invisible hinges, and opens it. The delicious smells of the forest fade from her sensitive nose as she steps into the dusty corridor of the Institute that houses the Ionian champions, and she pouts slightly as the door shuts firmly behind her. She switches her tails out of its way and sashays down the hall, her clever yellow eyes tracing the outline of each name plate as it appears. The subtle rune that glows by each door to show the state of its occupancy is dark for Irelia, Varus, Karma, Udyr…

Ahri frowns and lets her hips move normally as she runs forwards, scanning the names. Shen, Akali, Kennen, Lee Sin…all gone.

All gone.

"Looking fer someone, pretty thing?" a man's voice drawls, and Ahri whirls around with enough calculated force to make her skirt fly up nearly to her navel.

"Twisted Fate," she purrs upon identifying the gambler through the dim light. Her orb, pulsing angrily at the interruption, calms and floats to her hand.

He grins at her, his broad brimmed hat pulled down over his eyes and his thick coat covered in yellow dust. A glittering red card rests in his breast pocket.

"Them Ionians are out, Miss Foxy," he drawls. "My buddy Lee tells me there's some trouble with Varus, and I just sent him and Karma to Ionia with a Gate. Kinkou are all busy with Zed, and Syndra's been missing for weeks…but don't tell anybody else that part, pretty thing."

Ahri smiles, her eyes hooded as she stores these facts within her mind.

"I am behind on recent news it seems, dear Fate," she says sweetly. "Anything else for me?"

"Surely you can make it worth my while, Foxy," he teases, holding a finger to his lips.

"But of course," Ahri whispers, her voice lowering to a seductive growl. "Now _tell me a secret_."

She purses her lips and a puff of pink magic shoots between them. Twisted Fate grunts in surprise, his hand flashing to his pocket, but cannot move fast enough. He sighs and his hand falls back to his side as he takes an unconscious step towards Ahri.

"That's cheating, pretty thing," he chides her weakly, his mind struggling against the power of her unfiltered charm.

"I'm no card player," she chuckles. "Now speak."

"Well," he says slowly, what she can see of his eyes glazing over, "there's a lot of trouble in Freljord right now. Piltover's worried about their trade routes and Ionia's got enough of a mess on her own. Bilgewater's trying to take advantage of the situation by hiring out to both Ashe and Sej', and Rakkor could care less, as usual. Demacia and Noxus haven't done anything, though."

Ahri's breath hissed through her teeth.

"Tell me, Fate," she asked lazily, "who are the most powerful mages in the entire Institute?"

"I ain't that qualified, Foxy," he protests.

"But I'm ever so curious about your opinion, my dear," she purrs.

"Well…'s got to be Syndra or Xerath, right? Xerath's got the age, and Syndra's got the talent. They could probably blow up a world or two between them."

"Ah, but Syndra is occupied," she whispered. "Unless…are there any rumors of her whereabouts?"

"Lee thinks she's in Freljord, stirring up that bat-hornet's nest," Twisted Fate said confidently.

"You've exhausted your use," Ahri said sweetly, making a chopping motion with her hand. Twisted Fate shudders briefly before he straightens up, scowling.

"Hey now, Foxy—"

She smirks and plunges a hand into her neckline. His eyes bulge for a moment until she withdraws a small purse, which she tosses to him.

"Lady Luck," he murmurs. "What else could you fit in there, pretty thing?"

"Wouldn't you like to find out?" Ahri laughs, and leaves him without another word, her shoulders back, her walk confident. Her hips sway for his benefit.

But inside, she is thinking, furiously thinking, with all of her animal cunning tearing at what the Cardmaster had told her.

* * *

_Early the next morning…_

"The prince-was speaking-with some figure," Orianna chirps, busily turning the key at her back. She and Ahri sit by a small pool in the League's gardens, ostensibly to watch the sunrise.

"There-was a great-noise of energy-like the Ball's-dissonance-but louder," she continues, "I-will-show you-true power, it said."

"Interesting," Ahri purrs, brushing her hair between her fingers. "And the prince's goals are noble, at least in his mind. Those are the most difficult to overturn."

A sly chuckle comes from the shadows and a shiver runs over Ahri's spine. She does not turn, but lets Evelynn appear before them, polishing her claws on a shard of bone.

"You'll never guess what I learned, dear, sweet friends!" she cackles in delight.

Ahri's nose twitches. Evelynn smells harshly of chemicals and the particularly bitter scent of the voice, and even her long run was not enough to cleanse her of them fully.

"Noxus?" the Nine-tailed Fox guesses.

"How ever did you know?" Evelynn says, delighted, before her wicked face turns serious. "It seems they have an artifact from Ammun, stolen by our friend Kassadin, who is now paying for his foolishness."

"Would they-give it-to Dem-acia?" Orianna asks, the Ball emitting an anxious whirr.

"Hah! I'd like to see those squabbling toads cooperate on anything," Ahri sniffs. "No, they'll both be trying to pierce the world-walls, but not together. I imagine that the Noxians will try and use whatever portal magic those do-gooders have cooked up for themselves."

"Do we have any idea where they are going?" Evelynn asks, her azure brow furrowed with thought.

"I do," Lux announces suddenly, and the three women jump as the mage's body shimmers into view. Ahri frowns. Can everyone turn invisible but her?

"Spit it out, Miss Crownguard," Evelynn hisses, her eyes narrowed with dislike.

"The ruins of Urtistan," Lux says quietly, tapping her fingers with her baton. "Beneath Zilean's tower lies an ancient bath house where both Nasus and Renekton briefly appeared before the magic of the summoner's took them to the institute. It is the natural conduit between Ammun and Runeterra and it is there that the mage has most likely begun to construct a portal. The only records of world travel belong to Zilean's people, and they were taken from him while he dealt with the Kalamandu crisis."

Ahri is silent, her mouth slightly open, and Lux smiles faintly.

"You'd be surprised what the Institute's library holds when you look at it with the greatest librarian in the world," she says fondly.

"Kudos to you, Miss Crownguard," Evelynn whistles.

"So what now?" Ahri presses. Her eyes rove over the blonde mage hungrily, but she pushes her orb's influence away. She considers sharing her hunch, but decides to wait. It was best, after all, not to prepare only for one enemy.

"I have a plan," Lux says firmly. "But it is…risky, at best. Jarvan has his eye on both me and Nasus, and expects me to try and take either his or Renekton's weapon within the week. At the same time, if I understand correctly and Talon has been earning his pay, Noxian special forces will be traveling to Shurima to catch the mage by surprise. If we stay here they will be able to open the portal, and you three don't have the knowledge to close it. If I go with you, Demacia knows something is wrong, and the Dauntless Vanguard will follow. If they meet the Noxians, they'll destroy each other, but most likely they'll merely try to capture me, and the Noxians will still be able to accomplish their goal. However, if I steal Nasus' staff and give it to Jarvan, they'll either be complacent or have their mage summon them down there, which would be disastrous, as neither Nasus or I will be there to interrupt the portal's opening."

"The Ball-believes these odds-are unfavorable," Orianna chirps, subdued.

Lux takes a deep breath and launches into her plan. "So, we need both Nasus and I in Urtistan at the same time, and the Demacians and Noxians there at the same time. Therefore, I will present Nasus to Jarvan as a prisoner and together we will convince him of a need for haste . The mage will summon the Demacian forces that can be assembled at the Institute and us, but Nasus assures me that he can use his powers to force us into reality at the edge of the desert. We will have to make the rest of the journey on foot and presumably reach the portal location just ahead of the Noxians. There, we shall attempt to destabilize and destroy it when the mage attempts to active it, and the rest of you will hopefully be in waiting to give us assistance. The arrival of the Noxians will confuse the Demacian military, and with luck we can destroy the portal and the records and escape while they fight amongst themselves."

"That sounded rather complicated," Evelynn points out, after blinking a few times.

Ahri's mind is swift to organize Lux's strategy, and murmurs, "How will we be able to reach this place quickly enough?"

"Armies are slow, and champions are fast," Lux says confidently. "My calculations should give you a day before we arrive."

"Let me sum up," Evelynn sighs, "Nasus and you travel with the Demacians. We run very, very quickly to some godforsaken desert. The Noxians get left by their lonesome. Somehow, these three groups arrive at the same time and miraculously nothing goes horribly wrong."

"You think of something better," Lux challenges her. "Even if they get the portal open, we'll be close enough to go through and organize Ammun's defense."

"I cannot improve on it," Ahri says slowly. Her tails switch anxiously, brushing through bushes and startling the birds. Though she fits pieces and slots of information together and examines it from all angles, she cannot decide how to stop both the Demacians and the Noxians at one time. If Nasus' group splits their forces, they will be overrun by the number of champions that belong to both city-states. The only hope is to catch them both together. But the plan bothers her, churns in her stomach. The idea of the slaughter that waits in the desert frightens her. She is a killer, but she kills with love. Death, blood, battle…she is a wild animal and these frighten her.

But there is terrible danger ahead and her ever-planning mind will torment her with the consequences unless she tries to prevent it.

"Fine, Miss Crownguard," Evelynn hisses. "Though I hope you know what you are doing."

Lux frowns, her eyelids flickering. "It is my duty to know all the parts of the human puzle. Incidentally, do you manipulate light or darkness to become invisible?"

"Darkness," the demon growls, puzzled.

"Ah, but there you are wrong," Lux says, shadows in her eyes. "Darkness is merely the absence of light. One may cloak themselves in cruelty, another in sparkling goodness, but while one hides, the other blinds, so evil may always go unseen."

"Then may they shutter their own eyes," Ahri purrs thoughtfully, "and Bayara-santi, the dragon of Ionia, guide us in the absence of her children."

The other three women (though Orianna fits this label only loosely) look at her and the Nine-tailed Fox smiles briefly, enigmatically, her orb shining with a pale blue glow.

"Don't fear, Lux. They're mine now," Ahri chuckles, and vanishes in a flash of spirit energy. Silently, the others disperse, until only Lux is left, looking down into the pool where Nasus sat, it seemed like so long ago.

"No more," she whispers to the dawn, "victory for our allies, defeat for our enemies—"

She vanishes between one beam of light and the next.

"—justice for all."


End file.
